The Baltics Secrets
by Startled Boris
Summary: Everyone has secrets don't they? Especially when you live in Russia's house. Appearances from the Nordics, Belarus, Ukraine, England, France, America, Germany, Italy, Prussia, Austria, Hungary. Warning: gender bending, swearing, fluff, multiple crack pairings. Don't read if you like Russia abusing Baltics fics...
1. Dreaming

**Characters: Russia, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Ukraine, Poland, Belarus, England, the Nordics and lots of others.**

**Setting: Early 1980s – during the time of the Soviet Union, location – numerous.**

**Authors Note: This is an antidote to all the Rapetruck Russia fics out there (not that I've anything against the authors), some swearing, some mild violence, lots of fluff. Most of the characters will be in character unless they're not (much like us I think). Some gender bending. Also please note that I've used the 1980s name for St Petersburg which was Leningrad – just to clear that up.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia obviously; all these characters were created by the magical, marvellous Hidekaz Himaruya.**

Chapter 1

The sun beat down warmly on Russia's face; he loosened his scarf, unbuttoned his Red Army greatcoat and lay down in the soft grass. How lovely, even better as warmth flooded his chest as his cat landed on him and purred at his master. No wars, no snow, no blood, no-one telling him to do that, order the troops this... if only all days could be like this...

"So we reinforce the border at ... Mr Russia, are you listening?" A hesitant voice broke into Russia's reverie. Not polite. Russia jerked his head up and opened his eyes. Bloody hell, were they still at it? Didn't these humans have anything better to do? Surely they only lived for 70 years if they were lucky, he, Russia, was over 1000 years old and he still couldn't see why they wasted their lives in meetings. If he thought he only had 70 years to live, he knew he would be outside in the sunshine, sleeping, reading, eating chocolate and drinking vodka. Why waste your precious lives on war. Stupid humans, stupid government officials.

Russia growled and looked out of the window at the Leningrad rooftops and the falling snow, "I'm assuming that's the end of the meeting, gentlemen. If there's anything else you wish to tell me then you know my telephone number." He could still get home within an hour and throw snowballs at Lithuania.

The ten officials ranged around the table looked nervously at each other. They were designated to meet their Nation once a week at a minimum and pass on information it was felt he should have (after Stalin's death, Russia's influence on his government's dealings had increased –but only because the bosses didn't wish to lie next to "Uncle Joe" in the Kremlin mausoleum). However, the role did not come without its dangers and after Russia had slammed one former delegate's head so hard onto the table that he suffered head injuries and "helped" another down the stairs – all for being "impertinent" - then the current delegates trod very carefully around their Nation. The presence of KGB Special Operations Agents outside the door was no consolation, Russia frequently trained with the Spetsnaz and had often kicked their arses and handed them back in a Tupperware box. So, unsurprisingly after a two hour meeting which – for Russia – was a marathon in concentration, they decided to call it a day.

A nervous, shy looking young man sat with his back to the wall behind Russia, he pushed his glasses up his nose, sighed and checked the notes he'd made of the meeting. Estonia was relieved the meeting was over, he'd started to get a crick in his neck and his hand ached. Although his Russian was fluent, his shorthand was not as good as it should be, but Russia insisted on Estonia attending the meetings and keeping notes. Estonia knew it was because his boss's concentration wavered and his memory was generally bad, and really he didn't mind it. The information he gleaned from these meetings was too useful and valuable to his own plans. Meticulously, Estonia jotted a few notes in his notebook in his own coded shorthand – you couldn't be too careful, he knew the symbols would mean nothing to Russia if he happened to look, but he wasn't sure about the KGB – and smiled to himself.

At the other side of the city, standing back from the main thoroughfares stood a large 18th century mansion. There were several things unusual about this house – not just its size and outward opulence which gave it the look of a museum but the fact that it had survived the war, the bombings and the subsequent terrible siege. Any casual observer would think that it was just another government building, a little tatty around the edges, in need of a lick of paint, some shingles missing from the roof, whilst a more perceptive person would see a double eagle on a coat of arms above the huge doorway – a symbol of the old Russian empire, whilst a hammer and sickle bearing the motto CCCP engraved in metal on a wooden board lying in the huge porch.

The inside of the house was just as tatty and careworn as the outer. With over 50 rooms in the building (it was a former Russian prince's abode), numerous staircases, attics and basements, the house was draughty and cold in all seasons. At the present time (early winter) the heating was on and the fires were banked up as the temperature outside dropped to -5 degrees. Russians liked their central heating, they may have to queue for bread and other food, but they liked to be warm. And Russia, for this is whose house it was, liked his warmth. The cold nation felt perpetually cold – his body regulated to whatever temperature his country had at that time and, as Siberia consisted of 77% of Russia's landmass, Russia was often cold.

In the large kitchen a young man with a kindly, worried expression was kneading dough – chocolate chip cookie dough to be precise. He'd already baked fresh dark Russian rye bread, prepared some meat stew for dinner, but was now practising his American recipe that he'd acquired on a visit to the American nation some 70 years before. Lithuania guessed that his boss would be tired and angry when he came in and so the cookies were a salve for his temper. The brunette shook his hair out of his eyes, dug a hand inside his apron pocket, took out a small pill bottle and carefully took a few of the tablets out. Crushing them with a spoon, he added the crushed pills to the dough. "This batch is especially for Mr Russia," he thought before rolling it out and placing the cookies on the baking tray, he smiled softly. "That should keep him quiet."

Meanwhile, upstairs in one of the many attic bedrooms, the youngest of the Baltic nations was reading and making notes to a large bundle of paper.

"This must be the longest one yet," Latvia thought, "I wonder if this will get published like the others? Only time will tell."

Latvia's thoughts were interrupted as Lithuania called up the stairs – his voice just reaching the fourth floor where Latvia's bedroom was located, "Hey Raivis, the boss'll be back soon, get yourself down here."

Raivis called back in a slightly high-pitched voice "I'll be down in a bit, just sorting something out..." Latvia carefully lifted up the loose floorboard at the side of the bed, took out the large tin hidden there and placed the manuscript inside before replacing the tin and gently tapping the floorboard back into place. Raivis would post the manuscript to the publishers tomorrow the young nation decided and with that that thought, the young Baltic skipped downstairs to join Lithuania.

**A/N: I know this chapter was all descriptive and not much dialogue, but that will change in subsequent chapters, I just wanted to set the scene. Feel free to read and review.**


	2. Lithium

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, unfortunately.**

Chapter 2

"Hi kids, I'm home," Russia's voice echoed through the house. Estonia stumbled over the doorstep carrying a briefcase and numerous bundles of papers.

Lithuania and Latvia stepped out into the hallway to greet the other two nations. Behind Russia's broad back, Estonia gave a barely noticeable thumbs-up and as if to punctuate Russia's good mood, Boris (or Russi-cat) shot out of a nearby room and jumped into Russia's arms purring loudly.

Lithuania relaxed – there should be no shouting, smashing of electrical appliances and shooting at televisions this evening. Perhaps those pills were unnecessary after all – but he could never be too sure when it was a "meeting day".

Russia handed his heavy coat to Latvia who subsequently collapsed under its weight.

He patted the youngest Baltic gently on the head, rubbing the blond curls as if Latvia was a pet dog. "Why are you so small, little Latvia?" Russia chirped.

"I'm five foot five, Sir," Latvia replied.

"But you've never grown and your voice is still too high. How old are you now?"

"N..n..n..nineteen, Sir, well in human terms, but over 100 really and in nation terms..." Latvia stuttered.

"Poor little Latvia, your balls should have dropped by now eh? Maybe he needs to see a doctor, eh Toris?" Russia said in his usual clueless manner, addressing Lithuania.

Lithuania steered the buried Latvia away from Russia's gaze, "Dinner's ready, Sir," he said hurriedly.

Russia, whose purple gaze was following the littlest Baltic with a puzzled look, brightened instantly and forgot the questions beginning to form in his muddled and befuddled brain. "Ooooooh food," he said happily and strode into the kitchen.

Lithuania and Estonia exchanged a look which appeared to convey "Phew, that was a close one."

Latvia meanwhile, hung up Russia's coat along with the rest of the costs in the cloakroom off the hall, "What a moron," the Baltic thought.

Dinner was the usual affair – Russia ate like a garbage disposal truck – shovelling the food into his mouth while barely taking breath, reading the newspaper as he did so.

Estonia, not for the first time, felt he was at feeding time at the zoo.

Latvia, as always ate quietly and kept silent, "The man's a complete pig." The young nation thought.

Lithuania thought, "The boss should weigh at least 20 stone with the amount he shovels down. I hope he leaves some for Poland tomorrow."

"Is Poland visiting tomorrow?" Russia asked, pausing mid-shovelful.

"The man's psychic, oh shit," Lithuania had a mini-panic, shivering violently for a moment and then remembered they'd arranged this weeks before. "Yes Mr Russia," he answered.

He was surprised Russia remembered, the guy's memory was as flaky as he was. Sometimes they were lucky if he remembered that this was the 80s. On a bad day they could be back in the middle of World War 2 and Russia would be humping sandbags around, boarding up the windows and gathering all his guns together. He would then take "his precious Baltics" into the basement where he'd either cuddle all three in a bone-crushing embrace until the "bombing" ended or he'd be sat by the door with a fully-loaded Kalishnikov rifle "waiting for Prussia or Germany" so he could "kick their arses all the way back to Berlin". Either way, the three Baltics would usually spend a sleepless night playing poker and drinking vodka until Russia finally collapsed with exhaustion. Really he was as mad as a frog on a rocking horse.

"Miss Ukraine is visiting as well," Estonia piped up happily.

Russia smiled happily at this – he hoped she'd brought him a new scarf.

"... and Miss Belarus," Latvia added.

Russia did a spit-take and almost swallowed his fork. "W..w..what? Here? Why?" He stuttered. Russia shuddered, the last time his little sister had visited he'd ended up naked, tied to his bed and drugged up with viagara, it was thanks to Lithuania and Estonia's intervention that... he trembled when he thought what could have happened. He never thought she'd go that far to "become one with him", clearly he was wrong.

"You won't leave me alone with her, will you?" Russia asked in a – for such a large man – pathetically small voice.

Lithuania gently patted Russia's arm, "No, Sir, we won't."

Russia grinned happily, clearly the third glass of vodka had started to take effect. He gathered all three Baltics in his arms in a huge bear hug, upsetting the table in the process, "I love my Baltics," he chirped happily. "But not in that way," he added hurriedly and released them quickly.

"Maybe Miss Belarus' therapy's working?" Latvia asked hopefully as they started to clear the mess away. Russia padded off to open another vodka bottle and no doubt snooze in front of the television with his tray of cookies.

"I think some other people could do with some therapy." Estonia said under his breath, watching his boss's retreating back.

"You know what happened last time the boss visited that poor psychiatrist. Poor guy ended up in an asylum raving about nations being people." Lithuania said and shuddered. The Nations' thousands years' secrets had almost reached the wider world – all thanks to Russia's ravings. "Thank God, that Dr. Knockemoff wasn't taken seriously." He added. In fact poor Dr. Knockemoff was now in a padded cell writing over and over in crayon on the wall with his feet (he was in a straitjacket) 'Become one with Russia'.

By the time the Baltics had cleared up the kitchen and gathered their various books, cigarettes, bottles of spirits and board games with which to while away the evening, Russia was already spread out on the couch, remnants of cookies on his chest, Boris asleep on his stomach, an empty vodka bottle at his side, snoring like a tractor.

So ends another average day in the life of the Baltics.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read/favourited this story so far. More randomness coming up in the next chapter. Nakedness, magic and embarrassing moments coming up soon. And yes, I've used artistic licence with Latvia's age. If anyone is expecting to see little Baltics being beaten/abused – you may leave now..**


	3. Magic

**Disclaimer: As said before I am who I was before and not Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**Author's Note: As said before, this is set during the 1980s – Margaret Thatcher's Britain(look it up on Wikipedia) – poll tax riots, strikes etc (sorry to get political).**

**Also please note it may appear there are numerous typos in this story – they're not - it's a result of England's drunkenness.**

**Warnings: Swearing, random nudity, fluffy puppies – not necessarily in that order.**

Chapter 3

London, England. Time: Midnight or thereabouts

In the depths of the cellars of an old 16th century townhouse, a slight figure clad in black was drawing symbols in chalk upon the floor. Pausing several times to take a swig from his bottle, the cloaked figure muttered to himself, "Thish'll work, sure it'll work, shemon-dummoning shpell..."

England raised himself to his full height of 5 feet 9 inches, and threw back the hood of his cloak, his green eyes gleaming maliciously. He swayed slightly and viewed his artwork, the pentagram was slightly askew but the other symbols looked okay, his vision blurred and he took another swig from the rum bottle. "Going to get rid of her, ohhh yesh," England laughed evilly, "Bwah hahahaha," and then promptly fell over.

An assassin that's what he needed, he couldn't kill his own country's boss, he knew some Nations had done just that and suffered the consequences, but an assassin, an evil demon from the pits of a fiery hell could destroy the Prime Minister and help restore his country to its former glory. England had used his demon summoning spell before and the results had been... interesting. During the war he'd got a large Russian – who he'd only just shoved back into the portal before he'd fully emerged, then in the 50's when he tried again he'd got a very pissed off Hungarian - he still bore the scar from the frying pan to this day. This time it was going to be different, the potion he'd brewed had been fermenting for days. And, having laboriously stirred it every ten minutes, meant England had had to stave off the boredom with truckloads of alcohol, so by now he was well and truly hammered and, together with having not slept for three days, his mental state which was usually hanging by a thread anyway, was well and truly tattered.

He carefully un-stoppered the potion bottle and staggered around the chalk circle dripping drops of the potion on to each point of the pentagram within.

He pulled the hood back over his face, finding he couldn't see a thing (his vision was blurry anyway), he pulled it back down, raised his wand and in, what he thought mentally was a magisterial voice, but what was actually a slurry whine, said "Penfold, Dangermouse, Velma, Fred, Shaggy, Daphne, Garfield and Carebears, in the name of Papa Smurf, I shummon thee, a creature of the night, a demon from the pitsh of hell to wreak destruction at my command, show thyself!" He waved his wand in the air and to his delight a blue glow emitted from the middle of the pentagram and grew and grew.

The very air seemed to hum and vibrate and as the blue glow expanded, England's eyes widened, "Yesh itsh working," he slurred, shielding his eyes from the glare.

Suddenly the blue light was gone and in the middle of the pentagram stood... a small Labrador puppy.

England stared "What? Are you a demon in dishguise?" he slurred. He actually picked the puppy up as if to examine if there was a large horned demon hiding under it.

"Woof," Daisy answered – for that was name on the 'demon's' name-tag.

"Oh bugger," England swore. "Well, Daishy, I shuppose you can be my edil sivetick, evil sizetick, evil sitedick... oh son of a tart."

'Daisy" responded by licking the Nation's face enthusiastically.

England placed the puppy on the floor and threw his wand "Fetch," he said, and promptly passed out.

A few hours later...

"Hmmm, I say old chap, give a bloke a chance..." England could feel a soft wet tongue licking his lips. "Nnnggg." England reached up and gently rubbed something soft and warm, which moved and then nudged his nether regions. His eyes flew open, "Bloody hell, you bloody French frog, get off me!" he yelled – an automatic knee-jerk reaction.

"Woof," came the reply.

As far as he knew this was not in the French lexicon, so England relaxed and, his head hammering as though a dozen hobnailed workmen were drilling their way into his skull, his mouth tasting like the underside of a camel, he slowly got to his feet. It was still dark, but then again this was his cellar and it was always candlelit. He retrieved his wand from the dog's mouth, straightened his cloak, and like the dedicated magician he wasn't, he decided to try again.

"Oh yes I am, sod off Tinkerbell and get your legs waxed, this will work. And Captain Hook you can bugger off as well." England continued muttering to his "friends", the puppy watching him with big brown eyes, as he went through the spell's motions once more.

"Once more," he muttered, "And then I'm having a bacon butty with brown sauce – lovely."

"Penfold, Dangermouse, Velma, Daphne, Shaggy, Fred, Scooby and Garfield, in the name of Papa Smurf, I summon thee, a demon from the fiery pits of hell, a creature of no remorse, of power and strength to do my bidding and wreak my destruction... well not my destruction... someone else's destruction... bugger." England collapsed on his knees, his head hurting and waved his wand despondently. "I bet that old sod Merlin never had this problem."

A flash of blue light lit up the dank cellar and a loud humming made the floor and walls vibrate. Suddenly, the room temperature dropped by several degrees and England found himself shivering. 'Daisy' yelped and ran for the cellar steps and disappeared. "What the bloody chuffing hell in the name of ballcocks is going on?" England said – to himself obviously as Captain Hook and Tinkerbell had scarpered.

There was a crash and something that appeared to be very large and very white materialised in the middle of the pentagram.

The blue light faded, the humming stopped and England raised his eyes to see what, in the name of arse, had just arrived in his cellar. It appeared to be a large white porcelain bathtub with...

"Oh holy shitting buggering hell," England jumped to his feet as, to his horror, staring back out at him, sat in a bathtub full of pink bubbles, a flowery shower-cap on his head, was a very angry-looking, very naked-looking Russian male.

"Kolkolkolkolkolkol," Russia stood up and then instantly tried to cover his vital regions with a sponge.

Russia grabbed the nearest thing that he thought would suffice for a weapon – a yellow rubber duck – and was about to step out of the bathtub with the intention of ramming the aforementioned bath toy in a place that would necessitate a visit to a hospital's urology department for England, when the English magician quickly waved his wand shouting desperately, "Returno reparo spellius stupidus!" and prayed fervently that he wouldn't wake up in traction in a hospital bed.

**A/N: Please do not try this at home – well, if you do, let me know the results!**

**Tune in for the next episode folks for more naked Russia, shocked Baltics and drunken Iggy...**


	4. Run

**Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and not me (if I'd had the genius to invent Hetalia there'd be far more female countries – but that's just me).**

**Thank you for all the kind reviews, favourites, alerts etc - they're all very much appreciated.**

**Warnings: Nudity, sexual innuendo, silliness and some random violence.**

Chapter 4

Poof! In a haze of blue smoke, Russia found himself stark naked, knee-deep in snow in the garden of his house. Fortunately, the garden was not facing the busy street on which the house stood and fortunately he still had the sponge with which to (just) cover his vital regions. Unfortunately, however, the garden was overlooked by apartment blocks and he shuddered when he heard a shout, "Pervert!" yelled the old woman from the top floor apartment next door.

For thirty years the old lady had lived next door to Russia and for 30 years she'd seen some odd things. Re-enactments of various battles – often with axes, guns and swords – usually involving a tall, blond man duelling with a shorter brunette man with a nervous, often bored expression on his face. Another time the same tall blond man was being chased by a woman with long, platinum hair wearing a blue dress brandishing several knives with a crazed expression on her face. Another time a short blond man in a mini-skirt danced provocatively with the nervous-looking brown-haired man. Clearly, it was a lunatic asylum - that was the only explanation for the insanity that often occurred in the garden. Today, however, was the final straw, for the 70 year old lady in the twilight of her years to sit down with a cup of black tea and her knitting to look out and see a tall, well-built blond man streaking naked in the snow. The old lady got out her binoculars for a better look, "Pervert!" she yelled again, "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Ashamed? Russia was absolutely seething, and was kolkoling as he passed the snowmen that presumably Poland and Lithuania had built. He stopped for a minute, "How strange," he thought, one snowman was bent over the garden bench, whilst another snowman was stood behind the first leaning over as if to push it over, he assumed blithely. "How nice to have friends," Russia thought for a minute and then his eyes darkened as he crouched behind the bench looking for an inconspicuous way back into the house, "I'm going to rip England's head off, da."

"Pervert!" Russia shuddered and not just from the cold and made a dash for it, he reached his office window and could see Estonia inside looking at some papers, Russia knocked on the window.

The old lady watched through her binoculars and turned to her disinterested husband who was even more ancient than she was, "Stark naked and he's trying to get someone to join him now, I bet it'll be that transvestite. There's probably going to be an orgy." She picked up her binoculars again in anticipation and tried to zoom in for a better look.

Estonia looked up and to say he was surprised to see his boss naked outside the window in the snow was a huge understatement, Estonia's eyes widened and he dropped his mug of coffee in shock.

Russia gesticulated at the window, desperately trying to keep his vital regions covered with the sponge and now shivering violently. Estonia, who had seen his boss do many weird things in the forty plus years he'd worked for him, was too shocked to move, "He's finally lost his marbles," he thought.

Russia gave up and drew a finger across his throat, as a vivid intimation of what Estonia's fate would be once he'd got into the house, had dressed and thawed out.

Around the kitchen table, Ukraine, Belarus, Poland and Latvia were chatting amicably – or not, in the case of Poland and Belarus.

"A skirt totally does look good on me!" Poland exclaimed.

"You're a man!" Belarus answered, "Act like one."

"You mean like you do?" Poland shot back, "You're so butch, Bela."

Ukraine got ready to intervene as Belarus looked set to launch herself across the table, when the door was taken off its hinges and Russia burst in panting, naked, still holding the sponge against his nether regions and a dark purple aura surrounding him.

The seated nations' reactions were mixed to this intrusion.

"Like, not cool, Braginski, I mean, dude, it's like minus 5 out there or something, man," said Poland somewhat obviously.

"Vanya, what on earth do you think you're doing?" Ukraine exclaimed.

"Big brother!" Belarus' exclamation was the worst – in Russia's view – the lascivious emphasis on the word 'big' and her eyes travelling down to Russia's 'southern territories' made him feel uncomfortable in the extreme.

Latvia just gawped, mouth open and emitted one long, "Oooooooh."

Russia grabbed the nearest tea towel which still barely covered his vitals and growled, "England is a dead man." Purple aura blazing, he shot out of the kitchen and dashed up the stairs two at a time – running over Lithuania in the process – who merely shrugged, picked up the fallen laundry and carried on without missing a beat.

Silence reigned, Belarus rose to follow her brother, only to be restrained by Ukraine.

"Like, dude, guy totally needs to lose some weight and really... pink showercap and check towel? Epic fashion fail." Poland gave his verdict on the events.

Latvia was still speechless, blue eyes like saucers, mouth stuck in a big 'O'.

"England summoned him? How? I must know..." Belarus asked. She'd been banned, after the viagara "incident", from going within six feet of her dear brother and she realised that after that last failure he would be even more on his guard. Plus with her sister and the ever present Baltics around, her "becoming one with big brother" plans were becoming more difficult to carry out. However, if she could summon him to a location of her choosing... Belarus' thoughts started to get carried away, kidnapping him never worked, alcohol never had any effect and for all her tricks and bribes he would never willingly visit her home. She did not know England very well but she was sure he could be "persuaded" to help her.

"I have to go, plans to make, people to see..." she said and jumped up. She reckoned if she took the next flight to London she could be "chatting" with England that very evening.

Another person making travel arrangements was Estonia – deciding that now was a good time to go on a business trip, particularly as Russia was still kolkoling after almost freezing his balls off in the snow, Estonia booked a flight to Helsinki, telling Lithuania as he hurried out the door with his suitcase and briefcase that it was "the boss's business and he was on a diplomatic mission regarding a missile that had crashed in a Finnish lake."

"A likely story," Toris thought.

So ends another "average" day in the life of the Baltics.

**Author's Note: A Russian missile did actually misfire and crash-landed in a Finnish lake back in the 1980s (Lake Inari Incident) – Finland didn't get worked up about it though – they were trying to keep both the West and the Soviet Union happy (also there was quite a bit of trade between Finland and the Soviet Union throughout the Cold War).**

**Tune in next time for England, Belarus, kick-ass Latvia and more embarrassed Russia. Oh and probably the Nordics.**


	5. Snowblind

**Authors Note: Thanks again for everyone who reviewed, favourite, alerted etc. – all much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: Again, unfortunately I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters therein, but I wish I did (i.e. France, Spain and Italy would all be girls!).**

**Warnings: Intense crack, some history, bad-ass Latvia (yay), randomness, some swearing and a fluffy hazy love scene (kept it vague to keep it T rated), oh yes and Denmark.**

Chapter 5

Ukraine took out her knitting – baby bootees, she didn't know anyone who was pregnant just yet, but baby clothes and scarves were her favourite items to knit – so quick and easy and the wool was so soft. "Besides," she thought, "you never know". With her little sister out visiting some poor unfortunate wretch, she could relax a little and mother the Baltics a little, for that matter where were they?

Lithuania was down in the basement in a state of panic, "Pol, please listen to me, Mr Russia will definitely not be happy if you paint this pink."

"I'm sorry, Liet, but this room is so totally uncool," answered Poland as he tried another colour from his tester pots, "If I'm going to be an interior designer some day, I've got to start somewhere... hmmm lilac... a few swatches of fabric here and there and you could really make this room something nice."

Lithuania slapped a hand to his head and looked around the basement; there were tins of food piled up, bottles of vodka, army blankets, guns and ammunition – in short a home-made bomb shelter. He did not think lilac paint on the walls and chintzy throw cushions would pass muster and he doubted Russia would approve.

Russia did not approve of very much at the moment; he was sat in his office wrapped in his army greatcoat with his new pink-and-sunflowers scarf muffled around his neck drinking vodka trying to warm up. He was busy kolkoling and bending "Mr Pipe" – his favourite faucet pipe – into various shapes imagining England's neck was being obstructed.

Latvia was in the top floor attic, trying to get Russi-cat from under the bed. The large grey Siberian cat had its claws out and yowled as the young nation tried to pick him up. Clearly, its owner's mood had infected the cat. "Stay there then, Boris," Latvia said exasperated, but as the young nation withdrew their hand from under the bed, it brushed against something hard and metallic. "My rifle!" Latvia squeaked. Giving a tug, the Baltic dragged the almost forgotten sniper rifle out and held it lovingly. Dusting it off and examining it for scratches, Latvia's eyes misted over as memories flooded back.

* * *

><p>December 1944 – The Baltic Offensive<p>

Latvia had been a sniper in the Red Army, defending her (yes, folks her) country against the Germans. Like most snipers she tended to work alone, some snipers had someone who carried extra ammunition and was their extra eyes and ears, however, Latvia preferred to rely on herself. Setting off each morning from wherever the division was camped and trying to get as many "kills" as she could. In the burnt out cities and towns she'd managed to get a credible amount of kills but this one day she'd got lost, the division she was attached to had moved – probably some urgent manoeuvres to some new threat, so as evening closed in and the temperature dropped to minus 10 and the snow started to fall she was stuck.

She hadn't meant to sleep with the tall Russian officer, it wasn't something she would normally do, there was a war on after all and dodging Germans all day, barely having enough to eat, bombs exploding, the cold, noise and having not washed for days on end was not usually conducive to romance. However, the big Russian – dressed much like her – muffled up in about a dozen layers, a ushanka crammed on his head, camouflage smeared on his face, smelling of vodka, sweat, blood and God knows what, was still a warm body to snuggle up to... After all two army greatcoats were better than one, and that's when they'd... well anyway, it had been like kissing a brewery and trying to have sex without taking any clothes off had been weird...

* * *

><p>Latvia broke off from her reverie to the present and sighed. The only name he'd muttered into her neck in between warm sloppy kisses was "Ivan", which was laughable really as half the Red Army was called Ivan – the Americans and the Brits called all Russians "Ivan". Haha, very funny, she'd felt a complete fool when she'd woken the next morning to find the guy gone. Of course, she'd tried to find him when she'd joined up with the division, but it had been so dark, he could have been anyone. All she could think was thank God he'd used a condom, the idea of getting pregnant filled her with horror. "He's probably long dead now," Latvia sighed sadly and gave her rifle a clean, wiping over the name etched on it "Aija Yereva" – one of many aliases she'd used in her life.<p>

All the nations, apart from Lithuania, Estonia and Ukraine, thought she was a boy - she'd kept her hair short, used a minimiser bra and wore the same olive green baggy uniform as Lithuania. Really, it was surprising how little notice people took of her, she thought. However, her boss, although being largely socially inept and totally oblivious, was lately asking too many questions. "What a moron," she thought, and then remembered that morning's 'incident', clearly the poor guy was going insane, she'd known him ripping out plumbing before and smashing up furniture, and no door seemed to survive when Belarus visited, but she'd never known him go streaking before. It was definitely the first time she'd seen him without at least six layers of thick clothing and the ubiquitous scarf which covered his poor scarred neck, "Poor Mr Russia," she thought, "On the other hand, hmm who'd have thought Mr Russia had a six pack..." she thought and then slapped herself.

* * *

><p>Downstairs, the phone rang, Lithuania shouted to no-one in particular, "I'll get it" and muttered "I'm the only one who does anything around here anyway, Estonia sods off as soon as things get hairy and Latvia moons around in her bedroom... typical teenage girl... Pol's doing his nails, Ukraine's knitting..."<p>

"Hello?" he answered and hoped against hope it was America – just to redirect some of Russia's ire.

"Is that Lucinda Lovelace?" said a voice.

"Do I sound like a Lucinda?" Lithuania asked, seriously worried. "I bet it's Prussia or France doing one of their prank calls," he thought.

"Well, I suppose so... you never know these days," said the voice.

"Is this Gilbert? Francis? This is not funny, guys." Lithuania groaned.

The phone went dead.

"Who was it?" called Ukraine.

"Somebody asking for a Lucinda Lovelace," Lithuania answered.

"No way, man, she's fabuloso, I lurve her books." Poland butted in.

"What?" Lithuania asked.

"Lucinda Lovelace, the famous authoress," Ukraine explained and held up a well-thumbed paperback book with the title "Sweet Surrender" and appropriately slushy front cover of a blond girl looking adoringly up at a dark-haired, handsome man with violet eyes. "She's my fave writer."

"You too?" Poland squeaked, "I've read all her books."

"Ooooo, Symphony of Love is my favourite..." Ukraine breathed and held the book to her ample chest, sighing deeply.

"Liet you should totally, like, read her books. You should, like, hold me to your manly chest and carry me bridal style to bed," Poland sighed.

Lithuania took hold of the book with a frown and examined the cover and flipped quickly through the contents. Ukraine dipped her hand in her black-hole of a handbag and retrieved three more similarly titled books with seemingly the same brown-haired, purple-eyed man on the front.

"He looks like ... someone familiar." Lithuania said, examining the cover of one book, 'Symphony of Love' which showed the same guy sat at a piano with an impossibly sultry look on his face.

Ukraine and Poland both frowned, "If only I was the girl in the books..." they both said and then stopped and glared at each other.

The phone rang again.

"Yes, hello?" Lithuania answered, "No, I'm sorry there is no Lucinda Lovelace living here."

He put the phone down and sighed, brain whirring – that picture on the front of the book... surely not, he picked up Love Conquers All and stared at the cover. "He looks like Mr Austria!" he exclaimed.

"No way, dude." Poland said, "Mr Austria isn't in a book. Don't be daft, Liet."

Ukraine stared at the book, "It does look like him, but why would he be in a book?"

Lithuania shook his head, he did wonder about Ukraine's and Poland's mentality sometimes, "Maybe somebody's got a crush on him, and been writing novels based on him?"

"Brad in the first book is nothing like Mr Austria. Roderich's the coupon king, darns his socks and shouts at people." Poland stated.

Just as Poland was about to point out that no author would create a romantic hero who shouted at people in shop queues, wore glasses to make him look "less plain", married men as well as women and forced people to listen to his piano-playing as a form of punishment, the phone rang again.

This time, Lithuania was too slow and Russia picked up the phone in his office.

"Lucinda Lovelace? F*** off, Gilbert, that's not funny and stop ringing otherwise I will come across there and shove your phone so far up your ass that you'll have to squeeze your balls to give someone a phonecall." Russia's incoherent shouting echoed around the house, as a telephone met its untimely end against the wall of his office.

A light bulb appeared above Lithuania's head, "LATVIAAAA!" he shouted up the stairs.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile... in Helsinki, Finland.<p>

In a small house just outside the city, a tall blond wild-haired man was dancing around in a Santa costume that was clearly six sizes too small.

"Hahahaha, awesome!" he yelled, waving a bottle of beer around, "I can be Santa now, stuff you, Tino." He swigged some more beer, spilling half the contents down his pants. "Oh bugger, I'll have to take these off now." And so he divested himself of the red velvet pants to reveal white boxers adorned with crude red lipstick kisses and opened another bottle.

Six bottles of beer later, Denmark got ready to leave the house, he checked his appearance in the mirror – a Santa hat perked lopsided on his spiky blond hair, dark sunglasses on, a red velvet Santa coat with black belt (undone), a sack over his shoulder containing his hair gel and beer, the aforementioned white boxers with crude kisses on them covering his southern regions, black boots on his feet, one hand holding an axe, "Looking good!" he smirked at himself in the mirror, picked up his car keys and set out.

* * *

><p>London, England<p>

The wizard occasionally named Arthur Kirkland, Nation-tan, England, fell out of bed. "Dear lord, what the hell was I drinking last night. Is that my head banging?" he muttered.

He sat up, hair wild, a misshapen wizard hat askew on his head, a broken wand held limply in his hand and heard banging again. It was definitely coming from downstairs and not apparently, the recesses of his brain.

Ascertaining, through a fog of the mother of all hangovers, he realised it was his front door and groaned, "Blast it all, I'm coming, keep your pants on, chappies." He called and winced at the noise in his head.

Stumbling down the stairs, falling over the last six steps, he finally wrenched open the door to reveal... a short, slim, blond haired woman with a grim expression on her face. "Aaaargh!" England screamed and did what any brave, male nation would do in his position; he slammed the door in the Belorussian's face and attempted to run.

**A/N: Phew, glad I got that out of the way, I can now write "she" instead of Latvia said, the young nation said... it's harder than you think not to write he/she. The name 'Aija' is a popular female Latvian name and I made up 'Yereva'. Feel free to review/flame whatever.**

**Also the Forest Brothers were a band of Latvian partisans who fought both with the Soviets against the Germans and then against the Soviet occupation of Latvia long after the Second World War ended and through much of the communist regime – some did not give up until well into the 1980s. (I figured Latvia wouldn't give up without a fight!)**

**I did a little research and some of the sniper history/background I stole a little from a film called "Enemy at the Gates" – about a Soviet sniper at the Battle of Stalingrad. If there are any inaccuracies please feel free to correct me. Also sorry to any Germans reading this – I'm not anti-German at all.**

**Tune in next week folks for Nordics, drunk Iggy, and random musings of a fractured brain...**


	6. Santa Claus is Coming to Town

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, alerted this story – I've enjoyed reading your reviews and yes, this story is going to be very sugary, fluffy etc. More plot twists coming up. Thanks for keeping up, everyone.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own any of these characters (but I wish I did).**

**Warnings: Lots of crack, mild swearing, some slapstick violence, Denmark, England and creepy Belarus.**

Chapter 6 – Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Helsinki, Finland

It was late afternoon when Estonia arrived at Finland's house. He was always happy to visit his Nordic cousins, at least they were "normal" and he could relax instead of being on tenterhooks all the time - distracting his boss whenever it looked like he was going to throw a wobbly was exhausting. So visiting Tino and Berwald was a treat in normality.

Actually, scrub that, he was actually visiting to get them to sign up to one of his many property deals. He knocked on the door and listened. There was sobbing coming from inside the house. This in itself was unusual, he opened the door and stepped in, to be greeted by the sight of the short blond nation known as Finland crying, being comforted ineffectually by his taller 'companion', Sweden.

This must be bad news, Estonia had known Finland for nigh on 300+ years and had never seen the young Nordic cry.

"Oh my word, has something happened? An invasion? War?" Estonia struggled to understand. "Surely the Soviets haven't invaded? Mr Russia never mentioned..."

"S'worse than that..." the taller Nordic, Sweden, answered, "S'Denmark..."

"D..D...Denmark?" Estonia stuttered. "What's he done?" Estonia's brain fired up, this could be bad, Denmark was a nut-job and was capable of lots of things, most of them unsavoury and usually illegal.

"Santa's gone!" Finland spluttered.

"I'm gonna killim" Sweden stated.

"He stole my Santa costume and gone to work as... as... me..." Finland was very upset now.

"Ooooooh," Estonia grasped the situation. This could be very bad, very quickly. Little Tino as well as being the personification of the nation of Finland was also the personification of Santa Claus, aka Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, Saint Nicolas etc etc. Everyone thought he was a fat white dude with a beard, they could not be more wrong. Tino was the epitome of Christmas cheer, of the Christmas spirit and spread joy throughout the world with presents to needy children and occasionally nations at war... and, well, Denmark wasn't.

"Work? It's not Christmas Eve for weeks yet?" Estonia said.

"S'got a job at t'local Ikea as store Santa," Sweden explained shortly.

The door burst open and yet another Nordic charged in, this one was also blond, hairclips in his hair and had a very grim expression on his face, "Where is the idiot?"

"Ikea, store Santa," Sweden answered.

Norway shook his head, "Then we have no time to lose!" he said, "We might just be in time to stop him before he goes into full Viking mode."

The four nations jumped into Sweden's Volvo, with Sweden driving and sped into town. Norway sat silent, his expression in default grim mode, Finland sat in half a Santa costume (the bottom half) hugging his sniper rifle sniffing, whilst Estonia, carefully holding Sweden's broadsword, pulled out some property contracts – after all there should be plenty of people to sign up at the store once they got there.

It took a further twenty minutes of arguing between Finland, Sweden and Norway about how best to approach Santa's Grotto once they did arrive at Ikea. Finally, Sweden made the decision by kicking down a fire door.

It was evident that this was not going to end happily. Sweden, Norway and Estonia were now disguised – badly – as elves (Finland refused – "I'm the real Santa, I will not lower myself to wear an elf costume") and were stopped by a small boy.

"Are you going to arrest the bad Santa?" the boy said.

Finland went red with rage and cocked his rifle.

"Yes, m'boy, we are," Sweden answered.

The small boy looked up at the six foot tall elf, "Are you the elf police?" he asked wondrously.

"No, sir, we're nations," Finland answered.

"He's in the soft furnishing section." The small boy said and skipped away happily.

In the soft furnishing section, the nation known as Denmark was sat on a large pink beanbag, his Santa hat perched cheekily on his short spiky blond hair, long white bare legs stretched out in front of him (the bottom half of the Santa costume now adorned Finland), grinning. His axe lay at the side of him, still thankfully un-used, he gripped a bottle of beer in one hand whilst he balanced a small child on his knee.

"Have you been a good little boy then, Peter?" Denmark slurred.

"My name's Brian," the child answered.

"Whatever. Here, have a present from Santa." Denmark burped, gave the child a bottle of beer from his Santa 'sack', shoved him off his knee and motioned to the child's mother to sit there instead. "...And has mummy been a good little girl?" He leered.

Estonia was having a good afternoon, all things considered. He was surprised at how many people trusted elves, and he parted a lot of people from their money with his 'timeshare property deals'. His retirement fund for his island property was starting to become a reality.

The same could not be said for his fellow nations. Finland in particular was becoming more and more distressed as he heard people complaining about the "filthy Santa" and one man complained that "Santa had chatted up his wife and given her his number".

"Santa's reputation!" Finland bemoaned, "It's in tatters."

Indeed it was. 'Santa' had insisted on each child's mother sitting on his lap while he asked them if they'd "been good" whilst having a quick grope and then handing them his mobile number.

Unfortunately – for Denmark – one lady in the queue was a large, well-built lady of, well, one can only describe them as Russia-esque proportions. She had viewed every woman sitting on the blond man's lap and when her turn had come had thrown herself onto his knee, flung her arms around his neck and gave him _her _number.

"Aaaargh!" the blond Viking fell off his pink beanbag.

"I know that scream," said Norway, "this way," and he proceeded in the direction of the shouts.

"Getheroffme!" Denmark yelled, flat on his back with the large Swedish housewife straddling him.

"Matthias, you've gone too far!" Norway said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Finland gazed around at the devastation, the crying children "why has that Santa got a woman on him, Daddy?" one child asked, the shocked women, the angry-looking dads and un-slung his rifle from his shoulder, took off the safety catch and took aim.

Sweden shook his head and laid one hand on Finland's arm, "I'll deal with this, m'wife, you're Santa, you can't kill anyone," and pulled his sword from its scabbard and strode towards the prone Viking.

"I'm the King of Northern Europe, you can't touch me!" Denmark shouted, still wrestling frantically with the large woman who was now trying to kiss him.

Sweden gently pulled the lady off Denmark, "S'cuse me, Ma'am, I need to deal with this," he said and took a swipe with his sword at Denmark's head.

Denmark rolled quickly, and remarkably for a man who'd drunk at least ten bottles of beer, jumped to his feet. He swayed a little, side-stepped another swipe from Sweden's sword and dived for his axe.

"Aha!" He shouted triumphantly. "You want a battle, Berwald, you got one!" He brandished his axe with both hands at arm's length and swung wildly.

Sweden spun round in a circle, pushed Finland and Norway behind him and parried Denmark's axe and then thrust his sword at the Danish man's mid-section.

Denmark leapt away – in the nick of time – stepped backwards, fell over the beanbag he'd been sitting on, scrambled to his feet as Sweden's sword was embedded just inches from where his head had been moments earlier.

The King of Northern Europe shouted "Aha, you're not fast enough. You've gotta be awesome to beat me, Dude!" and stepped backwards swinging his axe wildly.

The fight proceeded much in this fashion, the axe and sword clanging, metal clashing with metal, as sofas, futons, and other items of soft furnishings were shredded in the Vikings' path.

The lone security guard – a pimply youth of 18 – was totally out of his league, used to dealing with shoplifters, he panicked and ran for the doors, along with other panicked shoppers. Estonia stood at the entrance doors stopping some of the fleeing masses and enquiring if they wished to invest in some prime real-estate.

The battle may have gone on for hours if it wasn't for Denmark climbing to the top of a precarious display of storage cabinets. He stood at the pinnacle of the "clip-together storage solutions", brandishing his axe and yelled "I'm the King of Northern Europe, the Ruler of Scandinavia, no-one can beat me!" and probably would have proclaimed more if, at that moment, his boxer shorts hadn't fell down revealing a tattoo on his left buttock emblazoned with the word "Mum" and a big heart.

There was a hush around the store, several children burst into tears, a few women gasped and Estonia, who had been attempting to minimise the destruction with the management by charging all the damages to a credit card – Russia's credit card - swallowed the biro lid he'd been chewing in shock.

Denmark, totally unashamedly, and actually winking at several of the women, attempted to pull his boxers back up, overbalanced and fell off the display with a resounding thud.

Sweden rushed forward, only slightly concerned, ascertained that Denmark was indeed unconscious, pulled up the Nordic's boxers, wrapped him in a My Little Pony rug, threw him over his shoulder, gave the Danishman's axe to Norway and strode out of the store.

"Time to leave I think," Sweden muttered.

The three remaining nations followed. Finland inexplicably grabbed a full-size cardboard cut-out of Darth Vadar which stood in the store's entrance, Estonia picked up a store catalogue and Norway followed dragging Denmark's axe leaving a long furrow in the store's hardwood flooring. After flinging the nation known as Denmark into the Volvo's boot, the four nations jumped into the car and drove off just as sirens were heard round the corner.

As they left, one man stood at the customer services desk pointing at Estonia and complained, "That elf tried to sell me a bungalow."

* * *

><p>That same evening - London, England<p>

England sat at his kitchen table drinking tea watching the platinum-blond girl sat opposite him with great distrust.

"You will help me summon my brother and teach me your summoning spell or I will kill you," Belarus said simply, a knife twirling in her hand.

Bloody hell, how did he get into these situations? When she'd first turned up at his door he'd thought she was just there on Russia's orders to simply kill him and he'd ran. However, his "shit door knob" – her words – had been no match for her and she'd charged him and pinned him to the wall. Only after getting her to calmly sit down and have a nice cup of tea that he'd realised just what she wanted.

"B...B... British Empire," England stammered, his stock phrase for when he was truly scared. "Just a minute, I'm the United bloody Kingdom, and you can't just barge in here and expect me to bloody well teach you to do magic," England said, his courage rising. He didn't take crap from America so he was darned if he was going to take it from this little chit of a girl.

Belarus frowned, spun around and threw her knife which landed slap-bang in the middle of the bulls-eye on England's dartboard – which just so happened to have a picture of England's hated boss on it.

"Merlin's balls, how did you do that?" England gasped.

Belarus ignored him and considered the situation. England couldn't really be scared or intimidated into doing anything – unlike the Baltics – but maybe he could be 'persuaded'.

"You don't like this lady?" Belarus indicated the woman in the picture.

"Hell no, I want her dead."

"But she's your boss?" Belarus asked.

"And your point is?"

"Hmmm, big brother once gave his boss a heart attack and killed him," Belarus mused.

England didn't comment on this, Russia's propensity for giving people heart attacks was a given.

"I will kill this person for you if you teach me the summoning spell," Belarus announced.

England considered this. It might just work, after all he had been trying to summon a demon from the pits of hell, an assassin with no mercy and here she was – blue hair bow and all.

He gave her his hand, "We have a deal."

"I don't shake hands," she said with a sneer.

"Well aren't you a little ray of sunshine?"

"Cut the crap, Arthur, and get on with it. I have a hunk of a brother just waiting for me to shower with love," she announced as they stepped into England's 'lair'.

"Oooooh Arthur," she exclaimed breathlessly.

"What?" England frowned, he wasn't sure if he was comfortable with her calling him by his human name.

"This is soooo big, I could really use one of these." Belarus swept her arm around at the dank, candle-lit basement, then she smiled creepily, "We just need some heavy duty chains, a few whips, manacles and we're sorted..."

"Oh dear Lord," England groaned.

**Author's Note: Phew, that was a long chapter, I've never written a fight scene before. I didn't write Sweden in his usual incomprehensive speech, because I wanted everyone to understand what he said, also I might have made Norway a bit too dramatic.**

**The lines "Are you the elf police" – "No, we're Nations." are lifted from the movie The Blues Brothers – they say "Are you the police" – "No, Ma'm we're musicians." – I've always liked that line so I put it in.**

**If there are any inaccuracies (I've never set foot in an Ikea store) please don't hesitate to correct me.**

**Coming up next episode – bad-ass Ukraine, even more bad-ass Latvia, very confused Russia, and probably more Bela-Iggy (cos I like writing Iggy).**


	7. If I Were A Boy

**Quick chapter update: Not sure if I can update next week, so here's another chapter (two in two days!)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters therein, Himaruya Hidakaz does.**

**Warnings: Russia/Latvia bit of fluff (just a sneaky-peak of what is to come). Little bit of England (that came out wrong!)**

Chapter 7

Morning after the night before.

Leningrad, Russia

Latvia sat soaking in the bath musing over the previous evening's revelations. So they knew she was Lucinda Lovelace ('they' meaning Pol, Toris and Katya – she didn't include her oblivious boss in her musings). So what? But Poland's reaction had made her think, "the heroine's a total Mary Sue, Latvia," the Pole had said. That hurt, she'd based the heroine on herself and didn't think of herself as a one-dimensional character.

She hoped eventually to acquire enough royalties from her books to treat them all (well Katya, Pol, Toris and Eduard) to a holiday somewhere warm.

Her publisher, however, had more sobering news when they'd rung her back after her moronic boss had slammed the phone against the wall. They wouldn't publish her latest novel because "it wasn't gritty or realistic enough" and she "shouldn't keep using the same hero over and over – this Austrian count person wasn't realistic enough for their readers".

Okay, Latvia thought as she started shampooing her hair, you want realistic and gritty, I'll give you realistic and gritty and thought about her days in the War. Fine, you can have a realistic 'hero' she thought, I'll shove my mysterious Ivan in there – you can't get more gritty than that. She'd only put Austria in her books after meeting him the one time and he'd been courteous and kind to her (he'd thought like everyone else that she was a boy) and she'd been struck by his 'handsome courtly appearance' – some would read that as bad-tempered and shabby, but Latvia had developed a crush on him.

She started to rinse her hair when a large (actually scrub that and read large as a mouse) spider landed on her arm. She may have been a famed sniper in the War and she'd lived in Russia's house for decades, nothing usually fazed or scared her... apart from large spiders and drunken Russians, so she let out an ear-piercing scream.

Russia, whose office was directly below the bathroom, fell off his chair in surprise. Instinctively, he picked up Mr Pipe and ran up the stairs two at a time, kolkoling. Clearly someone or something was threatening his precious sister or Baltics.

He kicked open the door and skidded to a stop in confusion. 'Little' Latvia was covered in pink bubbles. She screamed "Mr Russia!" in indignation and threw a shampoo bottle at his head.

Russia didn't quite process the image properly but slammed his pipe at the spider which was scurrying up the bathroom tiles in a vain attempt to escape the screaming.

Latvia jumped out of the bathtub and grabbed as many towels as she could in an attempt to cover her modesty.

Russia, having destroyed the tiling around the bathtub, turned to the younger nation. He wasn't really that conversant with female bodies – he was not totally innocent but well, let's just say it had been 'a while' and leave it at that – but even he couldn't fail to mistake a hint of breast and shapely legs. The clincher was the white lacy bra and panties lying on top of the discarded green uniform.

Russia gave a long "Oooooh!"

Ukraine, Poland and Lithuania breathlessly appeared in the doorway.

"Vanya, what on earth do you think you are doing?" Ukraine asked, for the second time in two days.

She grabbed her brother by the arm and led him out, his eyes still wide and his mouth still in one big O.

"Not cool Braginski, like Latvia's a chick?" Poland said.

Russia halted, "Hold on, question..." he said slowly, one finger pointing up.

Ukraine steered him down the stairs, "Time for questions later, you big lummox," she said.

* * *

><p>Helsinki, Finland that same morning<p>

Estonia was leaving Finland's house with a banging head – hangovers were the norm after spending the night at Tino's house. Denmark was sat at the breakfast table, grinning inanely, totally unfazed he was wanted by the police for indecent exposure. He was being well and truly admonished by Sweden for his behaviour – this did not seem to affect the cheery Dane who ate his breakfast with gusto.

Estonia set off for the airport and back to Leningrad for his next stop-off before going home – Big John's Pink Flamingo Hideaway – the local Russian Mafia's nightclub.

* * *

><p>London, England – that same morning<p>

England woke up with yet another buzzing hangover, his whole body felt as if he'd been in a rugby scrum. He rolled over in his bed, alarmed that he was wearing just his Union Jack boxers to find, even more alarmingly, Belarus laid next to him.

"Oh God on a pushbike, what the hell did I do last night?" He thought. He tentatively reached out and stroked the girl's blond hair.

Belarus reached back, patted his arm and then whacked him soundly in the solar plexus.

* * *

><p>Back to Leningrad, Russia (phew!)<p>

"Did England and his magic do this?" Russia asked. Poor Latvia, he thought, had had a forced sex change.

"No, I've always been a girl," Latvia answered.

She was now dressed in a pink mini-skirt, pink tights, leather boots and pink fluffy sweater – all Poland's cast-offs – and felt very odd. Poland had decided "You need a makeover, girlfriend." And had proceeded to do just that.

"But why did nobody tell me?" Russia growled, but he flushed as he took in Latvia's pink-clad legs.

"Erm..." Lithuania, Latvia and Ukraine all looked at one another trying desperately to think of an excuse.

"Gilbert, Sir!" Latvia said quickly.

Prussia was the stock answer for everything that went wrong in Russia's house, from leaky roofs to lost socks to the time when Latvia had accidentally put a red sock in the washing machine with Russia's white boxers, turning them a delicate shade of pink.

Russia snarled at the mention of the ex-nation.

Latvia decided to run with it and put on a suitably damsel in distress act, "I was sooooo scared, Sir, in the War. Prussia and Mr Germany were after me..." This was actually true but only because as a famed sniper she'd killed so many Germans – and they'd thought she was a boy too.

"... and Prussia kidnaps female nations and does things..." she added and gazed up at her boss with big puppy-dog eyes.

Russia melted, anger instantly gone, "Aw poor little Latvia, I will protect you," he said and gathered her in his arms.

The fact that the Baltics had kept the secret to protect her from _him_ was overlooked, and Ukraine just thought it was one big joke – she had a wager with Estonia as to how long they could keep it up – she figured Eduard must owe her a lot of rubles now.

Latvia tentatively rested her head on Russia's chest as her breath was squeezed out of her in the Russian's bear hug, but she gave a thumbs-up behind his back to a visibly shaken Lithuania and an amused Poland. Ukraine grinned and took out her knitting - unfinished baby bootees.

**A/N: Hope that clears a few more things up. Next chapter – England & Belarus; a visit to the mind of Russia; and bad-ass Ukraine. Thanks again to all Reviews, Alerts etc and all my faithful readers.**


	8. Fools Gold

**Authors Note: Thank you everyone for all your reviews, alerts, favourites etc**

**Disclaimer: Himaruya Hidekaz owns Hetalia, not me.**

**Warnings: Mild violence, and a wandering into Russia's mind.**

Chapter 8

Leningrad, Russia - morning

Estonia stepped out of the taxi and approached Big John's Pink Flamingo Hideaway. He pulled on a long black overcoat, removed his glasses and knocked on the door.

A small hatch in the door at eye-level was opened and an ugly looking bald man looked out.

"Whatya want?" he grunted.

Estonia dug into his wallet and pulled out an ID card and showed it to the man, who flinched visibly. "Braginski, General Braginski to see Big John." Estonia said and raised himself to his full height of 5 foot 9 inches and emphasised the word 'General'.

The ugly man opened the door and allowed him in.

The nightclub itself was painted a garish blood red (Estonia thought Russia would like the decor) with awful red leather seats, a dancefloor and a stage with a metal pole which was bolted to the ceiling and the floor.

"So, Braginski, you're not as big as I expected?" said a much larger, much more uglier man.

Estonia reckoned this was 'Big John', whose establishment it was. "General Braginski, if you don't mind." Estonia answered and wished to God he'd brought a metal pipe with him or some kind of weapon. Estonia was aware he was a good four inches shorter and several kilograms lighter than Russia but he was a good actor and had been impersonating him around town. The Russian Mafia were good customers of his and were always after good property deals. Estonia's attendance at Russia's meetings with the Soviet Government had meant he'd got in on some military and oil deals but now he'd found out about some ex-military land that was being sold off and who better to sell it than him – Estonia – to a big ugly, thick Mafia boss.

So, Estonia showed 'Big John' the plans and proffered the deal. "You get first refusal on the land, I get 50% cut." He said.

'Big John' did not seem to like this, "So what are you gonna do if I take the deal and you get nothing? Hit me with your famed metal pipe? I don't see no metal pipe?"

Estonia thought about this, usually he never had a problem – Russia's reputation did the talking for him and cursed himself for not bringing the fabled faucet pipe, but he had been in a rush.

'Big John' screwed up his big ugly face, snapped his fingers at one of his lackeys and Estonia found himself flying through the air and out the door. He landed with a grunt on the hard concrete floor and stood up.

His big mistake was still trying to act 'in character' "You dare to hit the great Braginski? Kolkolkol." Estonia shouted.

The big ugly man sneered and punched him in the face.

"Bugger," Estonia thought as he nursed his black eye, "...But I will get my revenge."

* * *

><p>When Estonia finally arrived home, he found the household in the usual chaos; he stepped into the kitchen to find Latvia grumbling about her skirt being too short. Estonia shook his head, so finally his boss had found out – he owed Ukraine some money as he'd bet that Russia wouldn't find out until they'd got their independence. Ah well, you couldn't win them all.<p>

Ukraine dropped her knitting at the sight of Estonia's face and jumped up, flinging her arms around him. "What happened to you?" she said as she squeezed him to her ample bosom.

"That was some night at Finland's house then?" Lithuania asked, getting an icepack from the freezer.

"Oh Esty!" Ukraine gasped.

"Like, dude, those Nordics are wild, man." Poland observed whilst flicking through the IKEA catalogue Estonia had thrown on the table.

Estonia was too smothered by Ukraine's large breasts to speak, "Nnnng," he got out.

Russia strode in, "I have another meeting to go to today," he said gloomily, "Katya, can you ring up and say I am sick?"

"No I won't! You're not a kid, Vanya, do your job." She answered whilst still stroking Estonia's hair – Estonia gave a little sigh.

Russia looked around the kitchen, he still couldn't get used to seeing little Latvia in a short skirt, although he – correction she – had the legs for it. Lithuania was baking bread, Poland was poring through a catalogue marking out items and for some reason Estonia was buried in his sister's ample chest.

Ivan was irritated and when he felt irritated he made sure everyone felt the full force. He snapped his fingers at Poland "Get some work done, you idle little gay freak."

"Yeah, like, in a bit, dude," Poland said.

He pointed at Lithuania, "Get my dinner ready." And then at Estonia "Get your face out of my sister's tracts of land and get ready for this meeting." He then pointed at Latvia, words failed him for a moment and then he smiled, "You're okay, Latvia, take the day off."

Lithuania banged his rolling pin on the worktop, "Typical!" he muttered.

* * *

><p>Some hours later, the same day.<p>

Russia sat in yet another meeting, Estonia sat behind him in the usual place with an ice-pack on his black eye gazing into space. Before he'd left Ukraine had said, "Whoever did this to you, Esty, I will sort them out..." and then planted a kiss on his forehead. He smiled dreamily.

Russia was also in dreamland – this is what he was thinking:

_I could be on a beach with a bottle of vodka and a good book. How boring this is. I don't care about the border with Azerbaijan, I could crush him with my little finger and they can sod off, I'm not going to Baku just to sort them out. Why does Esty have a black eye? Katya looked upset and dropped some stitches. If I find out who did it I'll kill them, only I'm allowed to bully my Baltics. Little Raivis looked cute in that skirt, how did I not know? Am I that unobservant? I'm going to rip Gilbert's balls off if he touches her... oh coffee._

Russia's stream of consciousness was interrupted as he got himself a coffee from the centre of the table. He also answered "Da" to a question.

_Why can't I retire? I could be another thousand years sat with these morons. How does a nation retire? I could be like Grandpa Rome and just come back every so often and visit Toris and little Raivis... I could be ... Grandpa Russia. How do I do that? I'd have to be a dad. But I'm already a dad, Alaska lives with America, I wish I hadn't have had to sell her, I still miss her..._

Russia broke off a piece of the table and then sniffed emotionally.

"I need to have babies!" He blurted the last five words out loud.

Everyone in the room shifted nervously – visibly disturbed.

Estonia's pen jabbed right through his pad in consternation and he spent all of five minutes trying to extricate it.

Russia ignored the shuffling around the table as everyone eyed him nervously and continued his reverie.

_I need a girl... hmmm it's just my luck that the only woman interested in me is my sister. Why can't I get some other woman obsessed with me? Women usually run away because of Bela and I don't think they like it when I turn up for dates covered in blood. I tell them it's the blood of the enemies of Russia but... and I don't think women like it when I won't take off my scarf but how do I explain my scars? How does Francis do it? He's always having sex. Bloody French._

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" This was the only French Russia could remember Francis teaching him in the War, but he couldn't remember if it had been successful or not. Unfortunately he blurted it out loud to the man sat next to him, who went ashen grey and started shaking.

"Are you married?" Russia asked politely.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the meeting was over.

Russia took his huge size 14 feet off the table, snapped his fingers at a baffled Estonia and stomped out, mind still churning.

Unfortunately for Estonia, Russia decided to drive home and after clearing the dashboard of parking tickets and empty vodka bottles, reversing into a bollard, the large black Volga swept out onto the highway. Russia lit up a cigarette – steering with his knees – sang along to the pounding Finnish rock music, swerved to avoid a bus and proceeded to interrogate Estonia.

"How did you get that black eye?"

"Well, I was at Finland's house and Denmark turned up and we went to IKEA..." Estonia decided not to mention the visit to the Mafia.

"Denmark?" Russia growled, "I'll get him for you..."

"No, it was... argh, Sir! Mind that truck!" Estonia screamed.

Russia shook his head did a neat u-turn and flung the car down a side street against oncoming traffic at 60 miles per hour. "You're a man of the world, Esty," he said, changing the subject.

"I am?"

"How do you get people to like you?"

"Me?"

"Da."

"Give them want they want or what they think they want," Estonia said, thinking of his sales deals and then screamed as Russia swerved over the pavement, knocked over several dustbins and re-joined the highway forcing several cars to swerve and honk their horns.

"You need to calm down, Esty," Russia stated smoothly.

"Dear Lord," 'Esty' said as he stumbled out of the car when they arrived home.

"Do you think we missed that old lady?" Russia said, "There's no dint in the bumper."

'Esty' trembled, leaning against the car, it was a miracle there wasn't an 80 year old lady stuck as a bumper mascot on the front of the car.

* * *

><p>Inside the house, 'Esty' only just made it to the bathroom before promptly vomiting.<p>

Russia threw his coat off and was about to step into the kitchen when the conversation inside stopped him in his tracks.

"You have a crush on him, Raivis? O.M.G." Poland said dramatically.

"It's love..." Latvia said breathlessly.

Russia leaned against the wall next to the kitchen door and listened intently.

"He's, erm, okay," Lithuania said.

"Okay? The guy's a complete douchebag," Poland said, "What do you see in him, Latty darling?"

Russia frowned, Poland thought everyone was a 'douchebag' but he was interested in Latvia's answer.

"He's gorgeous," she sighed, "Those eyes."

"Oh Latvia, honestly," Ukraine said in an exasperated tone.

"Gorgeous purple eyes," Latvia added.

Russia instantly perked up and turned to stare at himself in the mirror at his own purple irises. "Ooooh," he muttered, but surely not, well maybe...

He hurriedly smoothed down his unruly blond hair – even going so far as to spit on his hand to smooth down his fringe and attempted a seductive smile. The effect was so bad it made him jump. He then tried to flatten down his prominent nose and gave up.

"He's always shouting and he's bad-tempered," Poland said, "Liet isn't that right?"

"I'm afraid so and he's mean."

Russia snarled and was about to barge in and give them a piece of his mind...

"Hungary won't be pleased," Katya stated.

Now Russia was confused. Hungary? He rubbed the back of his head where the Hungarian had once hit him with her cast iron frying pan.

"He's so handsome and strong," Latvia said in protest.

Russia was really confused, he accepted he was strong, but he didn't think he was handsome.

"No he's not, if you get married, you'll have to carry him over the threshold." Someone said, probably Poland.

Wait, what? Russia was very very confused now.

"Austria's a complete geek, Latty-kins darling, get a real man," Poland said.

Austria! Russia growled. She was in love with Austria! He punched a hole in the wall and strode in the kitchen, slumped into a chair and glared around the table. The temperature dropped by several degrees.

"Hey Braginski, what do you think of Mr Austria?" Poland asked.

Lithuania shook his head frantically at Poland behind Russia's back.

Russia growled, his hands gripped the edge of the table and broke a chunk off. "He's a wimp and can't win a fight without that wife of his," he declared, kolkoling.

"He's divorced now, Sir," Latvia said.

"But he's still got as much backbone as a wet haddock," Russia stated simply.

Russia picked up one of the Lucinda Lovelace novels and flicked idly through the contents. He paused at the front cover – showing what appeared to be Austria sat at his piano seat with Latvia gazing up at him adoringly. His eyes widened and he promptly threw the book out of the window.

"Vanya, I hadn't finished that," Ukraine admonished.

Latvia jumped up and fled the room in tears.

Lithuania sighed and picked up the phone to call a glazer, together with a plumber to repair the damage caused by 'Mr Pipe'.

**Authors Note: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir – means would you like to sleep with me this evening - in French.**

**A Volga is a type of Soviet-era car.**

**Baku is the capital city of Azerbaijan.**

**Also Alaska as Russia's daughter - have seen some fanfics where Alaska is sometimes a boy and sometimes a girl and is Russia's kid - so I took liberties. If I've upset anyone - this wasn't my intention, it's my head canon that these nations are all several centuries old and they must have had children at some time. So apologies if needed.**

**This chapter ended up being far longer than I expected and the bits I were going to put in are going in the next chapter (I didn't want to have too long a chapter). I know I promised bad-ass Ukraine – and that will be in the next chapter, along with another fluffy love scene, more explanations and hopefully we'll be getting back to IggyxBela.**

**Feel free to correct me on any of the above, also feel free to review and let me know what you think so far.**


	9. What About Love?

**Chapter 9: What About Love?**

**Author's Note: Thank you again for all the favourites, alerts and especially all the reviews and PMs – they all made me smile.**

**Disclaimer: Again, I do not own Hetalia – all characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Warnings: Lots of crack, mild violence verging on slapstick, bad-ass Ukraine (finally), fluffy love scene – but between which characters – you'll have to read to find out and a little bit of IggyxBela.**

Chapter 9

Later that day, Leningrad, Russia

Russia was sat in the kitchen, for some reason all the other inhabitants of the house had disappeared. Lithuania and Poland were in the basement – Poland muttering about 'doing the place up' – Russia hoped it meant he was cleaning it and not painting it pink and glittery. He would have thumped the smaller nation, but hitting someone in a miniskirt seemed very wrong. Latvia had also left and he hadn't seen her since he'd ranted about Austria's unmanliness. Ukraine and Estonia had also left the house, Russia had no idea where to, Ukraine said something about shopping and Estonia had said something about 'business'. He assumed his little sister was still out terrorising some other poor unfortunate Nation, he wasn't too bothered, as long as it wasn't him.

Russia had a feeling that something was going on, but he wasn't sure what. He mused over his coffee, in normal circumstances he would kolkolkol and stand over Toris or one of the other Baltics glaring at them until he got some answers. He rarely threatened them outright, he didn't have to. Having an intimidating presence was enough and he worked on it regularly in front of a mirror to get it off to perfection. But it was much more fun if he could practise it on America and the other Nations at world conferences.

Russia's eyes rested on the headline in the local newspaper – "Five wanted in IKEA smash-up" with CCTV pictures of four elves. "That one looks like Estonia!" Russia exclaimed. There was also a description of a tall wild-haired man brandishing a large axe half-dressed as Santa who was wanted for indecent exposure. "Tut tut, whatever next?" Russia murmured to himself, "Is nothing sacred?"

He then picked up the Lucinda Lovelace novel he'd thrown through the window earlier and absent-mindedly picked up Ukraine's knitting. He noted that the more 'girly' elements of his household had taken to reading these books lately and when he'd asked why, Ukraine had said "Because she knows what women want."

"Hmmm," Russia thought, as he flicked through the book, "If I can get some idea what women want, then I might be able to get a girlfriend and then have babies."

If Toris or Feliks had walked into the kitchen during the next hour they would have been met with the sight of Russia, still in his Red Army General's uniform, knitting a tiny baby-sized bobble hat and reading – with great concentration – a propped-open romance novel.

* * *

><p>In Russia's car, Leningrad<p>

Ukraine drove fast but safely, "thank goodness she didn't drive like her nutter brother," Estonia thought.

"So who gave you that black eye? And don't tell me it was Denmark, I'm not stupid," she said.

Estonia gingerly touched his swollen socket, he'd removed the icepack but it still hurt. As soon as he'd finished vomiting up his breakfast after arriving back from the meeting with Russia – he was still unsure if it was hangover-driven or Russia's driving-driven – Ukraine had grabbed him by the arm, declared they were going 'shopping' and steered him out the door.

"Well... I bumped into a door," he lied.

"What's with all the chequebooks? And what's with the Red Army coat?" Ukraine asked, "Come on, Esty, I saw them in your room."

'Esty' sighed, should he tell her. He trusted Ukraine – Katya he corrected – she'd often protected him and his 'brothers' from the worst of Russia's moods before and besides there was no point having all this money if he had no-one to spend it on...

"Please tell no-one – not even Toris or Raivis – and certainly not Mr Russia," he said.

"Okay, out with it..." Ukraine said.

"Well, after the War, the Government has been doing a lot of reconstruction right?" Estonia said – he meant the Soviet Government. "I've been... well... my company I should say, has been acting as intermediaries or middle-men between the contractors and the government. The contractor or the customer pays the Government for the land and I take my cut – my commission. It's worked with gas and oil deals as well to Finland and some of the European Union countries. The Government get a good deal, the customers get the 'advance' notice of contracts and I get some money. Everybody wins." He then went on to tell her of his 'meeting' that morning with Big John.

"I see," Ukraine said, her lips set in a hard line, "We'll sort out this Fat John person." She said, however, she was impressed, she'd known he was intelligent, but this took the biscuit. "How long have these 'deals' been going on?"

"A while," Estonia stated simply.

"You made a lot of money, then?" Ukraine asked, her brain whirring – she'd been after a rich husband, she was fed up of farming all her life, America was out of bounds, her boobs scared England, France was just too unnerving even for her...

Estonia could not help but brag, "I've bought an island off Sweden's coast and I'm building a hotel complex."

"I want in." Ukraine said simply.

"Well..."

"60-40 or I tell Ivan," Ukraine said, "I could be your bodyguard," she added, as a sweetener.

Hmmm, Estonia considered this, it would be nice to have a partner, what was the point in earning all these millions without having someone to share it with. "70-30, last offer," he said.

"Done," she said and reached over with her free hand and ruffled his hair. "But first things first, we have to sort out this Fat Tony person."

"Big John." Estonia said.

"That's what I said."

* * *

><p>Big John's Pink Flamingo Hideaway<p>

The two Nations parked the car and got out. Ukraine strode purposely up to the door and banged on it forthrightly.

Estonia sighed, "Miss Katya, I think no-one's in, we should go."

"I'm your bodyguard and no-one but no-one messes with you. It's either that or I get Ivan," Ukraine said.

Estonia decided that Ukraine was definitely the lesser of two evils, what would she do anyway? Give them a piece of her mind and stab them with a knitting needle? He was about to get back in the car, when an ugly face appeared at the door-hatch.

The ugly man glared at Ukraine "Whatya want, darling?" he said the latter word in a leering manner, looking at Ukraine's ample chest.

Ukraine snarled and punched the ugly face with a decisive right hook, "No-one calls me darling," she said and karate-kicked the door in.

"Hey honey, are you the new dancer? What's your name, dearie?" Came catcalls as Ukraine strode into the nightclub.

Ukraine smiled, stepped up onto the stage and started twirling around the pole provocatively. Estonia gasped. "My name's Katyusha." She said in a soft lispy voice that Estonia had never heard before. "It means pure..." she continued dancing provocatively.

"Wooohooo," the ugly men all clapped, there were four of them, Ukraine noted.

"It can also mean rocket..." she added, "But my full name is Major Yekatarina Katyusha Braginskaya." She then stopped dancing, grinned at the men and ripped the pole from its ceiling and floor bolts, snapped it in half and jumped from the stage.

"Who hit my boyfriend?" she asked, twirling the two poles like a drum majorette. Estonia blinked at the word 'boyfriend'.

The four men all looked at each other. "Haha, what you gonna do, little girl?"

"This..." she answered, swept one of the poles around the back of the knees of one of the men who promptly fell to the ground and brought the other pipe down on the head of his neighbour. A third man tried to extricate a gun? knife? no-one knew, as Ukraine delivered a roundhouse kick to his testicles. He was on the floor nursing his bruised privates whilst a fourth man attempted to run. He didn't get far before one of the poles – with unerring accuracy - was thrown at his head and he fell to the floor like a brick. The first man who'd been smashed behind the knees was just getting to his feet and looking ready to hit the Ukrainian when Estonia punched him hard in the face and he fell like another brick.

The whole fight took less than five minutes.

Ukraine grinned, waved the metal poles around and said, "I'll give these to Ivan, he will be pleased. Come on, sweetie, let's go home."

* * *

><p>Russia's house, Leningrad<p>

Latvia was sat in her bedroom, in Toris's words 'mooning' about on her bed, staring at some of the pop group posters on her wall she'd acquired from Liechtenstein and Sealand and considered the last 24 hours' events. Idiot Mr Russia, what did he know. And her publisher. However, she had to admit that having the same 'hero' in her novels was starting to wear thin. "They wanted gritty and realistic, okay then," she thought.

She would re-write all the major love scenes, change the plot a bit and make the setting World War 2 – with 'Aija Yereva' as the heroine and 'Ivan' as the hero who rescues her or maybe, she thought, Aija could rescue_him_. She picked up her pad and pen...

_He leaned in for another kiss, gentle but firm. His strong arms pulled her closer until she was pressed close against his broad chest. "Ivan!" she gasped, "Oh my love, please be gentle with me," he lowered her to the ground and..._

Latvia broke off from her writing. She couldn't remember actually saying any of that, in fact she and Ivan had barely exchanged a dozen words. Her Russian had not been very good back then and the conversation had been mainly "Vodka?" "Da." "Cold?" "Da." And then he'd shared his chocolate ration with her.

She sighed misty-eyed. Was it stupid to carry a torch for a guy who more than likely had been dead for forty years? But what was a girl to do? She lived with three idiot men – one an insane alcoholic Russian, one was a computer geek and the other was gay for his Polish boyfriend one minute and in love with his insane boss's insane sister the next.

Latvia carried on writing.

"_Aija," his rich, deep voice murmured into her neck as he placed warm kisses along her collarbone, his warm voice making her stomach tingle._

"Hang on, that's too many 'warms', flipping heck". She scribbled out warm voice and reached for her thesaurus. "Hot? You can't have a hot voice though can you?" She thought. "Sod it, my editor will sort this out."

_She ran her fingers through his thick soft hair and_

"Cathairs!" Latvia exclaimed. "Boris! I'm fed up of you getting in the way, sod off." She pushed Russi-cat off her knee where he'd pounced, purring.

_He lowered her to the ground..._

"Hang on, I'm already on the ground. Who would have thought a love scene could be so complicated? You can't be lowered to the ground if you're already laid on the ground."

She scribbled the last bit out and carried on.

_He laid his warm, strong body full-length on hers and placed one hand beneath the small of her back, his other hand hovered over the buttons of her tunic._

Latvia paused, can hands hover? She wasn't sure, helicopters did, it sounded bizarre, she ploughed on anyway.

_The Russian slowly un-popped the buttons of her tunic..._

Latvia stopped again, that wasn't right, it had been minus whatever and they hadn't divested of any clothing, to do so would have meant frostbite. Only the very necessary zips had been undone. "Maybe I should skip that then," Latvia thought "and get down to the nitty-gritty."

_There was a metal scraping of a zip and..._

"Latviaaaaa!" Lithuania called, "Get yourself down here and peel these potatoes."

She stuffed the pad hurriedly in her bag – she would write the sex scene later.

"Honestly," she thought, "I've got a blockbuster novel to write, I could make millions from this and escape this crapsack place, I may never have to wash Mr Russia's underwear again and flipping Toris wants me to peel spuds." She sighed, fantasy over and skidded down the stairs.

She ran slap-bang in Russia who was coming up the stairs, "Sorry, Sir," she said hurriedly, barely giving him a second glance.

Russia smiled fondly after her. She reminded him of someone he used to know, but he couldn't think who.

* * *

><p>England, UK<p>

Earlier that morning (England (the country, not the Nation) is 3 hours behind Moscow/Leningrad time)

England was sat at his kitchen table, rubbing his head, drinking tea and trying to make sense of the events of the previous evening. Opposite him sat Belarus. She seemed largely unaffected by the large quantities of alcohol they had consumed the night before and was almost cheery, eating her toast (it had been the only food she'd accepted from him) and perusing the list of ingredients required for the magic demon-summoning potion.

"So, my love," England said warily, "Perhaps we should go shopping later?"

Belarus looked up, she was singularly amused by England's appearance – he was wearing a black silk kimono with a dragon on the back (no doubt a present from China or France?), a pair of Scooby-Doo socks, Union Jack boxer shorts and his hair was stuck up at bizarre angles. Hardly the image of a sex god. "What for? And why would I want to be seen out with you?" she said abruptly.

England sighed, "Well obviously I will be getting dressed, unless of course..." he raised his eyebrows and nodded upstairs hopefully.

Belarus snorted, "You did enough last night, loverboy," she said.

England grinned happily, stood up, swayed a bit, his vision a bit blurred and proceeded to go take a shower. He wished to God he could remember what happened last night. It was just his luck to finally get a good-looking girl in his bed and then be too drunk to remember what happened. Maybe it would come back to him. All he remembered was Belarus beating him soundly at a game of darts and playing an awful drinking game... and didn't she carry him up the stairs? He stopped half way up the stairs and blushed.

**Author's Note: Another long-ish chapter. Hope this might have cleared some questions up.**

**Not sure if the Soviet Government did put reconstruction contracts out to tender – so have taken liberties there, but there was a good deal of corruption and 'back-handing' – as there usually is with Government business.**

**Next chapter will definitely have more IggyxBela.**

**Feel free to review for good or ill, correct me, ask questions, PM me or whatever.**


	10. Hot 'n' Cold

**Thanks again for all the favourites and alerts. And especially the reviews which amused me and spurred me on.**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. All the characters in this story are purely fictional (unfortunately?).**

**Authors Note: A whole chapter devoted to EnglandxBelarus. Warning for crack, fluff, France and innuendo.**

Chapter 10

London, England

England, still feeling quite delicate (although it no longer felt as though his head was going to detached itself from his shoulders) was out shopping with Belarus. Their shopping list on first sight appeared quite conventional:

_Milk_

_Bread_

_Baked beans_ (just about the only food England could cook without real incident was beans on toast)

_Bacon_

_Eggs_

_Rum_

_Vodka_

Until one read further on:

_Lump of coal_

_Saltwater_ – England intended to mix table salt with good old Thames tapwater

_Eye of newt_ – as newts are difficult to come by (England did not have the time to go pond-dipping) and besides they were a protected species, England decided to settle on a piece of cod from the fish market

_Ground antler horn_ – again, England decided to use a substitute in the form of bicarbonate of soda

_Fairy dust_ – England usually interpreted this as icing sugar – he was too shy to ask Tinkerbell to provide some – he wasn't really sure how that worked

So, after loading up their shopping bags in Tesco's (who would have thought that you could buy the ingredients for a demon-summoning potion in the local supermarket), England took Belarus on a sightseeing tour of London.

So far, England had succeeded in holding her hand briefly for ten seconds before she'd slapped him, however, he was not to be deterred. "Faint heart never won fair lady," he thought. Although he doubted if Bela had ever been a lady or a fair one at that. Therefore, he bethought himself of the days of the British Empire, his Golden Age, the many times he'd defeated France in war, took a deep breath, and nonchalantly put his arm around Bela.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I just thought..."

"Don't."

"But, last night... it was so..." England stopped, it was what? Buggered if he knew, he couldn't remember a damned thing. All he remembered was staggering or being carried up the stairs to his bedroom and telling Belarus how beautiful she was and then... blank.

"So... what? You don't remember do you?" Belarus said, amused.

"Actually, no." England admitted, shamefaced.

Belarus smiled, this could be fun. So that was why he was being so English, romantic and awkward. She could use this to her advantage, it might be a good thing if he couldn't remember the events of the previous night.

"Oooh, Arthur," she sighed, "Last night was so... so..."

England awkwardly placed a tentative arm around her shoulders as they passed the Houses of Westminster.

"...Big Ben!" Bela exclaimed excitedly pointing at the landmark.

England blushed madly, and almost swooned as Bela leaned back into his arm and didn't hit him.

By the time they arrived at England's 16th century townhouse just off Piccadilly, England decided he was in love or at the very least, in lust. They'd held hands twice and she'd hummed and harred over London's landmarks at the right moments. She'd also shown a passable interest in his commentary on the history of them without yawning – all good signs in his book. It was only as they'd arrived at Trafalgar Square and he told her again about his defeat over the Spanish Armada that she'd told him to shut up. They'd visited various pubs – all of which had interested Bela – especially the dartboard on which she routinely beat anyone who dared to challenge her and England had watched, proudly, getting quietly drunk on several pints of ale.

By now, Bela had warmed (or as much as the cold, icy Belorussian could warm to any man other than her brother) to England. She thought he was quaint, gentlemanly (but not in the frightened way that Lithuania was) and strangely funny. His blushes when she did touch his hand made her laugh and she liked his habit of talking to himself – his imaginary friends he called it. She didn't believe they existed but even so, she didn't like the sound of this 'flying rabbit creature' or 'Tinkerbell' – the latter she thought sounded a bitch. Captain Hook, she decided, was merely some dark, perverted subconscious of England's that came out when he was distressed. She'd visited enough psychotherapists to know about these things.

In fact everything was going swimmingly, Bela sat in England's kitchen with Daisy the puppy on her knee, watching England put away his shopping and the scene looked quite domestic and well, _normal_. Until England said the fateful words that struck fear into all Nations - big and small, "What shall I cook for dinner?"

* * *

><p>Heathrow Airport, London, England<p>

The afternoon flight from Paris, France, had just landed. A mid-height, blond haired man dressed ostentatiously in a designer suit, a red rose in the lapel, pulling along a Louis Vuitton suitcase, leaving a haze of Chanel, flounced through customs.

He blew kisses at the British Passport Control, winked at the security – even asking one furiously blushing female security guard if she wanted to strip-search him.

By the time he had reached the taxi rank he had been given over 20 telephone numbers and given out more than twice that number in autographs as most people assumed the Frenchman was some film or rock star.

"Bonjour, mon cher, can you take me in your beautiful chariot to number 69..." here, France sniggered, "Trafalgar Gardens?" France addressed the wide-eyed cockney taxi driver.

"Suppose so," the taxi driver answered, looking the Nation up and down.

"Ah mon cher," France sighed dramatically as the taxi driver put his suitcase in the boot of the car, "Be careful of 'Louis'."

"Louis?"

"Louis Vuitton, my luggage, mon valise..."

"Weirdo," the man said under his breath.

France oozed himself into the taxi and sighed sexily, "It is so nice to be back inside l'Angleterre."

* * *

><p>England's house<p>

A certain Frenchman was lurking outside the back kitchen window of England's house. Of course, he would not describe it as lurking, France never 'lurked', he observed unseen, he spied, he watched from the shadows (often from undergrowth if there was any to be had) and always, always with style.

France always liked to observe his victims (or as he would call them 'surprised hosts') before announcing his arrival, it was always interesting what you could find out about someone if they thought they weren't being watched. However, much to France's dismay England's curtains were closed. "Mon dieu, England and his damned drapery!"

However, by putting his carefully groomed head against the kitchen door, he could hear every word. The conversation inside was intriguing to say the least, England appeared to be talking to a woman no less and the talk made even France blush.

"Put it in."

"I'm trying."

"It's too big."

"Is it supposed to go in there?"

"Gently..."

"Just move that out of the way."

"Mind your fingers."

"Oooh it's hot!"

"You grab that."

"Flipping heck, Natalya, be gentle you'll drop it."

"Now turn the knob down."

"Here let me..."

"Is there supposed to be steam?"

France could handle it no more, he was shocked – which really took the wafer biscuit. He burst into the kitchen, "Angleterre, mon dieu! I am shocked, you pervert, you should have waited for me... oh..."

He was met with the sight of England and Belarus cramming a rather large turkey into an oven.

"Honhonhon, I should have known that Angleterre would not have making l'amore with a woman!"

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, you bloody Frog?" England spluttered. He was flustered and angry – not so much at France thinking he was a pervert, but that France seemed to think that he couldn't be 'making l'amore'.

"I knew it... Angleterre is mine..." France said dramatically. This, in France's head, was just a perfect excuse to irritate England.

Belarus looked France up and down, her possessive nature took hold. "He's not yours, he's mine, so you can keep your garlicky hands off him," she declared, brandishing a large kitchen knife.

France grinned at her, "Oh, it is l'amore is it not? Let Big Brother France show you..."

France never got to tell them what he was going to show them, as he got his arse well and truly kicked out of the kitchen by Belarus, watched by an awed England.

Bela wiped her hands on her dress, smiled at England and said, "Now, where were we?"

England sighed dreamily, he knew where he was, well and truly in love. What a woman, he thought, she could play darts, drink him under the table (which, admittedly wasn't that hard), cook a dinner and, to top it all, beat up France.

**Author's Note: Apologies for the bad French (my French is not up to much) and I did try to avoid some of the French accent – zis and zat – but I tried to keep France, well France.**

**Tesco's is a supermarket/grocery store widespread in Britain (in case you were wondering).**

**Apologies for any mistakes about London's landmarks etc – it's many years since I've visited.**

**Also there is a Trafalgar Gardens in North London I believe (I picked the name at random) in fact there are streets named Trafalgar Gardens all over Britain (there's one in the town near where I live) but I can assure you that Arthur Kirkland doesn't live there – I don't know where he lives. Oh sorry, he's fictional, yes.**

**Next chapter coming up soon is fluffy RussiaxLatvia but it'll be written with a twist/slightly different format to previous chapters.**


	11. Winter Nights

**Author's Note: Thanks everyone again for all your wonderful reviews, alerts and favourites.**

**Disclaimer: Himaruya Hidekaz is the owner/creator Hetalia Axis Powers and not me (Captain Obvious again). Also, obviously I did not write Grease/Summer Nights.**

**Author's Note Supplemental: This chapter is written in a different way from the last ten. I usually don't like songfics but I heard the song "Summer Nights" from the musical Grease sung by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John and thought – this could be Russia and Latvia. I wanted a chapter where Latvia tells Poland about Ivan, and Russia tells Ukraine about Aija, so I took liberties and changed the words. **

**Please ****use ****your ****imagination****- Russia/Ukraine/Estonia are all in the kitchen and Latvia/Poland are in Latvia's bedroom, Lithuania is running up and down the stairs between the two.**

**Don't worry though, normal service will be resumed after this Chapter.**

**Chapter 11**

Russia's House, Leningrad, early evening

Ukraine, Estonia and Russia were sat around the kitchen table, whilst Latvia and Poland were in Latvia's bedroom, Lithuania (as usual) appeared to be running between the two – making dinner and taking cups of tea up to Poland.

"I want to know why you're knitting baby clothes?" Ukraine asked her brother.

"I want to have babies," Russia answered simply and carried on knitting whilst reading Pravda.

"You haven't had a girlfriend in... how long?" Ukraine started laughing.

Russia sighed, "There was a girl in the War." He said defensively.

"The Great Patriotic War? Man! No wonder you're tense! Come on give me the details."

* * *

><p>In Latvia's bedroom, Poland had a nosey around and found Latvia's sniper rifle and the latest unfinished Lucinda Lovelace novel – 'Love and Bullets'.<p>

"What did you do during the war, Latty-kins?"

"I was a sniper, but I met this guy..."

"You wrote this novel all about some guy?" Poland said flipping through the notepad.

"He was special..." 'Latty' sighed.

"There ain't no such thing, honey."

Lithuania shook his head.

"He was really romantic," Latvia said.

Ukraine/Poland: "Tell me all about it."

* * *

><p>Russia: Winter loving, during a blast<p>

Latvia: Winter loving, happened too fast

Russia: Met a girl, rifle ready

Latvia: Met a guy, nearly shot him

Russia and Latvia: Winter days fighting away, but oh, oh that winter night

Ukraine and Poland: Tell me more, tell me more

Ukraine: Was this in that bar?

Lithuania: Tell me less, tell me less

Poland: Like, did he have a car?

Russia: She hid behind me, she had a gun

Latvia: He ran by me, nearly fell down

Russia: I saved her life, she nearly got shot

Latvia: I saved his life, he nearly got shot

Russia and Latvia: Winter snow, something begun, but oh, oh, that winter night

Ukraine and Poland: Tell me more, tell me more

Poland: Was it, like, love at first sight?

Lithuania: Tell me less, tell me less

Ukraine: Was it only one night?

Russia: She let me leave my scarf on

Latvia: When I woke up, he was gone

Russia: I asked her if she was cold

Latvia: It really was bloody cold!

Russia and Latvia: Winter fling, don't mean a thing, but oh, oh, that winter night

Poland: Tell me more, tell me more

Ukraine: Vanya, don't boast!

Estonia: Tell me more, tell me more

Lithuania: Would you like some toast?

Latvia: He got friendly, under his coat

Russia: She got friendly, floated my boat!

Latvia: He smelt a bit, needed a shower

Russia: I want to give her a sunflower

Russia and Latvia: Winter snow, it's bloody cold, but oh, oh that winter night

Ukraine and Poland: Tell me more, tell me more

Estonia: How much dough does she have?

Lithuania: Tell me less, tell me less

Ukraine: I hope you didn't make a mess!

Latvia: It turned colder, that's when he left

Russia: My gun got stolen – there was a theft!

Latvia: His name was Ivan, it was just wow!

Russia: Wonder what she's doing now?

Latvia: My winter coat, ripped at the seams

Russia and Latvia: But, oh, that winter… night!

Ukraine, Poland and Estonia: Tell me more, tell me more…

Lithuania: Tell me less!

* * *

><p>In the kitchen, Russia sighed and carried on knitting, Ukraine shook her head, "She'll be dead now, Vanya, that was forty years ago."<p>

Estonia frowned – his genius brain working overtime.

In Latvia's bedroom, 'Latty-kins' threw herself dramatically on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Pity, the guy'll be dead old by now Latty-kins." Poland stated, "I know, I'll go downstairs and get us some vodka and we can have a girly-chat."

In the hallway, Poland bumped into Ukraine, who was just leaving the kitchen.

"Latty was telling me about some dude – broke her heart."

"Vanya was telling me about some girl – broke his heart."

They both said in unison and stared at one another.

"Made out under his coat!" Ukraine giggled.

"Haha, Latty-kins did the same!"

"In the snow," they both said and both laughed.

"During the War," Poland said, "she was a sniper, who'd have thought?"

"What? Vanya's girl was a sniper... Did she say when?" Ukraine, with more sense than Poland, was now piecing the story together.

"1944 – Baltic Offensive or something. I'm going back up in a bit to get all the proper juicy details."

"Vanya was a General in the 1st Shock Army..."

"Yeah, so?"

"The 1st Shock Army were at the Baltic Offensive..."

"Yeah, like, co-incidence or what?" Poland said, oblivious.

Ukraine raised her eyebrows, "What was Latvia's guy's name?"

"Ivan...ooooh," Poland finally caught on, "But hell, most of the Red Army was called Ivan."

"Indeed," said Ukraine. This called for more questioning she decided and if she was right, well...

"I bet you that I can get them together before you," Poland said.

"Haha, you're on..." Ukraine accepted.

Lithuania, who had been listening to all this, shook his head, being far wiser and certainly the only sane person in the house, wanted no part in this 'wager'.

**Authors Note: The Great Patriotic War is what the Russians/Soviets called World War II.**

**There was a 1st Shock Army in the Red Army which fought the Germans in the Baltic States – and other places during WWII. Shock Armies were just that – sent in to engage the enemy at close range and penetrate the enemy's defences, they were also extremely mobile, i.e. the equivalent of special forces today.**

**Next up – 'normal' chapter (if anything is normal in this story) – I only intended this story to be short and I can't believe I'm up to 11 chapters.**


	12. Toothpaste Kisses

**Disclaimer: I do not own Himaruya Hidekaz, Hetalia does...**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following: Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell (apologies if I've missed anyone) and all my other lovely readers anonymous or otherwise.**

**This chapter is in the usual format (no songfic). Warnings for England's mouth and Belarus' mind wanderings, fluff, crack and a bit of angst (sorry).**

Chapter 12

London, England – late evening

Having despatched France to some far-reaching seedy hotel in Soho (just a guess), and having dined on a turkey dinner, Belarus and England were now stood over the stove taking it in turns to stir the 'demon-summoning potion'. England was drinking copious amounts of rum, whilst Belarus was deep in thought.

"I don't think you should drink so much," she said.

"You don't think I can handle my incohol... my ankyhol... my drink?" England giggled.

"I know you can't," Belarus answered. The previous evening he'd only drunk four glasses of rum before he'd declared his undying love, cried about something called the War of Independence and sang Rule Britannia – all whilst dressed in a very worn and tatty pirate outfit. He'd then kissed her passionately.

She hated to admit it to herself but she'd quite liked it. However, she was not at all surprised at the rumours surrounding him and France – he was obviously anyone's after a few drinks.

Having been spurned so many times by her brother – too many to count in fact – she was very cynical regarding men. The men she had seduced she'd tossed aside as they were often too frightened of her and they never quite measured up to her big brother.

All she wanted, deep down, was someone big, warm and strong to look after her and protect her from invasions and wars and that's pretty much what her brother had done, more or less. He wasn't always around though, but she'd decided many years ago that if they were married he'd have to be there for her. However, England was a nice distraction and ... useful, she decided.

England smiled happily, he was just (he thought) slightly tipsy, and he gently kissed Belarus on the tip of her nose.

"You're so cute, Bela-Bela," he slurred – the words 'Bela-Bela' coming out in a weird attempt at an Italian accent.

The next minute he pulled her into his arms and they were waltzing around the kitchen. Belarus, her normal cold, icy demeanour shattered, was laughing as England hummed (quite badly) the Blue Danube as he whirled her round and round.

They stopped breathlessly, Belarus feeling quite dizzy and gazed into each other's eyes.

For once in her life, Belarus didn't compare the green eyes of the man in front of her with the purple ones of her brother and for once she didn't regret that the arms around her waist weren't Ivan's. She just didn't think.

They leaned towards one another, noses touching, lips parted and... the phone rang.

"Blast it all!"

"England what are you doing?" America's voice shouted down the phone.

"What the bloody hell?" England exclaimed, why oh why did America always interrupt him when he was in the middle of something.

"Meeting of European countries and G7 day after tomorrow. Get to Australia's house for 5pm tomorrow for a big party, dude. Be there or be square. We're gonna kick some ass. I've got a new secret weapon and we're gonna kick that fat Commie dude's ass. Rock out!" This all came out in one breath without any pauses.

"Wait, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" England spluttered. "Get that burger out of your mouth."

"How'd you know?"

"Australia? Why there? "

"Yeah, Viennese, get with the programme, Arty."

"You mean Austria's hosting the next meeting?"

"That's what I said."

"Is everybody going to be there?"

"Yes, I've got some announcements to make, we've got borders to sort and my weapon to kick commie ass." America said with gusto.

England did not want to 'kick commie ass', he didn't like upsetting Russia at the best of times and was apprehensive as to what the big 'dude' would say when he found out that he'd been dallying with his sister.

"Why are you going? You're not even European?" England said.

"NATO, dude, I'm the hero! I have to be there."

"Oh for heaven's sake..." England wondered if he could possibly send Wales or Scotland. However, the former would just confuse everyone and the latter would fight everyone or out-drink everyone – even Denmark and Russia. He had no choice, "I'll see you there," he said in a dejected voice.

When he told Belarus he expected her to be happy – after all she was going to see her beloved brother wasn't she? But she seemed strangely quiet. She excused herself, kissing him on the forehead and went up to the spare bedroom. Normally, she would have been jumping for joy, plotting an elaborate plan to get Russia in some closet. A reconnaissance mission would have been undertaken to Austria's house, traps laid etc. But for the first time in her long life, she felt that she couldn't really be bothered. She realised with a jolt that since arriving the day before she'd barely thought of Ivan and this disturbed her.

**A/N: 'Dallying' means messing around with or perhaps going out with – quite an old-fashioned English term.**

**Rule Britannia is a very famous patriotic British song.**

**The Blue Danube is a famous waltz written by Johann Strauss II.**

**Apologies to anyone from Scotland and Wales (I'm part Welsh myself and have Scottish friends) – there is no intention to insult, but all the Scottish people I know and have met could easily out-drink and out-fight the majority of the Hetalia characters (yes, even Russia & Denmark). **

**Next chapter coming soon (as soon as I've typed it up and checked it) – Russia/Baltics/Ukraine/Poland – fluff and silliness. All before the serious stuff kicks off at the World Conference in – as America says – Australia (well not really Australia, but you knew that didn't you?).**


	13. Dress You Up

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following: Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell, and all my other lovely readers anonymous or otherwise.**

**Warnings: Crack, silliness, swearing, drunkenness, pandering to Russia's fangirls (yay), Russia's 'vital statistics'.**

Chapter 13 (unlucky for some!)

Russia's House, Leningrad – late evening

Dinner had been eaten, plates cleared and the atmosphere was, in a word, charged. Ukraine and Poland kept exchanging grins, Russia was morose and already on his fourth glass of vodka, Latvia was very quiet, Lithuania was nervous and kept glancing backwards and forwards between Ukraine and Poland as if one of them were going to throw grenade, whilst Estonia was calculating his tax return.

The previous hour had been spent with Poland interrogating Latvia, and Ukraine interrogating Russia (in separate rooms). Both wanted to get to the 'truth' before fully embarking on their 'wager' – which Lithuania so disapproved of.

However, Russia was not forthcoming, he felt that his big sister was merely making fun of him and clammed up, what was the point anyway? The girl – Aija – would be in her sixties now and no doubt married ,a grandmother probably and why would she want anything to do with him? He'd discovered over his long life that relationships with humans never ended well. Tsarina Catherine II had been one of the last great loves of his life and he still missed her – at least she'd been nice to him. Russia sighed and opened another bottle of vodka, moved a chess piece (he was in the middle of a game with Estonia) and started another row on his knitting.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Poland was getting more out of Latvia, with the aid of a bottle of Polish vodka.<p>

"So, the guy's name was Ivan?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"Good-looking dude?"

"I don't know, it was dark."

"Latty!"

"Well I was cold! I needed someone to warm me up, he was big, strong and warm."

"How big?"

"Poland! I can't believe you just asked me that!"

"How tall, Latty dear? My God, you have a filthy mind."

"Oooh, at least six feet," Latvia blushed.

"Hmm," so far it fitted, Poland thought. "Colour of hair?"

"It was too dark to see, besides he was wearing a fur hat. Why all the questions?"

"Just getting the picture in my head," Poland answered, he took one of her hands and began painting her nails glittery purple. "So what would you do if you met him now?"

"Well, he's probably dead now..." she winced at the awful colour her nails were becoming – being a girl seemed like hard work to her.

"Suppose he's not, come on, humour me," Poland persevered.

"Ask him where the bloody hell he buggered off to. I mean we'd just had sex, right, it was really nice, right, we cuddled, I fell asleep in his arms, he was so warm and I woke up and he was bloody well gone. The bloody bastard! I could have been shot or anything. Bloody men! I'd give him a piece of my mind." This all came out in one long tirade whilst Latvia swigged from the vodka bottle.

Poland sat back, he'd never seen Latvia so wound up before.

"So... you wouldn't consider getting together with him?"

"No I bloody would not! Bloody bugger, obviously just sleeps with anyone who drops their pants. Not that I just... Anyway, it was just a one night stand. It meant nothing. I don't care..."

"Right..." Poland said and transferred his attention to the nails on her other hand.

"I mean it," Latvia said resolutely.

* * *

><p>Downstairs the telephone rang, and, as always, it was Lithuania who answered it. "Nobody does anything around here," he muttered.<p>

"Yes?" Lithuania said into the phone, in a rather abrupt tone.

"Dude, is that Braginski?"

"No, this is Lithuania. Is that Mr America?"

"Dude, hey Livonia, get Braginski on the line. And if you ever want to escape that fat commie, you can come work for me again..."

'Livonia' sighed, "Mr Russia, Sir!" he called, "Telephone!"

"Who is it?"

"America, Sir," Lithuania answered and instinctively ducked as Russia snatched the receiver from him.

"Da?"

"What?" America asked.

"Wut?" Russia said.

"Never mind that, hey Ivan, my man." Russia winced at the use of his human name by the American Nation. "Gotta meeting at Roddy's house. You know – Australia. Big announcements. Gonna kick fat commie arse." America shouted down the phone.

"You do realise you are talking to the commie right now, Amerika?" Russia's voice went into a deep baritone growl.

"Hahaha, great, dude. Be there or be square. Eight pm party. Rock out!" America hung up.

Russia growled, he was getting a headache (which had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he had consumed and everything to do with America's loud voice). He picked up another vodka bottle and went back into the kitchen. "A world meeting at Austria's house. All the nations I think," he told Ukraine and Estonia.

Estonia immediately thought of all the deals he could make, whilst Ukraine smiled, thinking of meeting up with her fellow female nations.

"Katya, am I fat?" Russia asked.

"You're just big-boned, Vanya. Chunky," she added as an afterthought.

Poland and Lithuania entered the kitchen – Lithuania to make coffee (in a vain, misguided attempt to sober everyone up) and Poland to get another bottle of vodka.

"What's wrong?" Poland asked.

Ukraine explained about the world meeting, and then took Poland out into the hallway. "Well? What's she say? It is Ivan isn't it?" she asked the Pole.

"It's a no go, that's what it is. I reckon it is him, but she said he left her before she woke up, got all irate and now hates the guy, I mean perhaps it's not going to work," Poland replied.

"Oh Pol, you give up too easily."

"Well, I think she's more likely to go out with me than with Braginski."

"Hmm, what he needs is a makeover."

Poland's eyes lit up as if it were Christmas, "Oooh, Katya!"

* * *

><p>What happened next was akin to what would happen in a zoo when a large predator - such a grizzly bear - needed medical attention. It may have helped if Ukraine had had a tranquilizer dart gun, but she didn't. Instead, they used lots of coaxing, lots of vodka, the threat of Poland's pink fluffy handcuffs (don't ask) and sheer manpower to hold Russia down. There were still casualties – Lithuania got thrown against the wall (luckily his martial arts training came into its own and he dropped and rolled), Estonia's glasses got broken and Poland broke a nail. But finally they managed it.<p>

"There! Isn't that better?" Ukraine said, panting, stepping back, carefully taking the scissors from Poland's hands before he got carried away.

"I preferred my hair longer!" Russia whined, "It covered my neck." Russia pulled his pink scarf around him.

"You looked like a hippy and your fringe was in your eyes," Ukraine told him.

"Split ends are not, like, cool. Chicks don't dig them," Poland said.

Russia looked up interested, "Wut?" he said.

"Yes and you need to smarten up for the meeting," Ukraine said.

"Yes, a softer image will do the trick," Poland agreed.

"Wut?" Russia asked again.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later found Poland in Russia's bedroom disgorging clothes from Russia's wardrobe, their owner watching, swaying, hugging a vodka bottle to his chest.<p>

"Tatty. Tacky. Old. Torn. OMG. Blood-stained. Smells of vodka..." with each word Poland threw yet another item of clothing – mainly uniforms (many dating from Imperial Tsarist Russia times, some from World War I, others from World War II, and most with medals still attached) onto the bed.

"I'm sorry Braginski, but you need some new suits to go with the new you," Poland stated simply.

Lithuania grabbed Poland out of Russia's reach – just as the latter was about to knock the little mini-skirted Polish man into next week.

"Are you trying to get killed, Pol?"

"1610, dude, 1610." Was all Poland said.

"That was over 300 years ago, are you mad?" Lithuania whispered.

Poland, totally unperturbed, went back into the room, took out his tape measure and said, "Right big guy, let's measure you and then I'm going to get you sorted with some new gear. Shame I forgot my sewing machine."

Lithuania almost fainted.

* * *

><p>Ukraine meanwhile had joined Latvia in the latter's bedroom and decided to get to the heart of the matter, "So this guy..."<p>

"What guy?" Latvia was now very drunk, she'd heard the yells downstairs and decided to stay well out of it.

"This Ivan..."

"Who told you about that? And why is everyone asking questions?"

"Pol mentioned him. Come on, tell your Auntie Kat all about it."

Latvia took another swig from her bottle, "It was just a one night stand. He buggered off before I woke up. I don't know him and I don't want to know him, what a douchebag." She sniffed.

Ukraine sighed, made all the right noises, patted Latvia on the back and pulled her into a hug. Can't be Vanya she thought, he was relentless in romance, stalker-like, almost to Belarus proportions. There's no way he would have just got up and left. She'd known people move continents to avoid him. Oh well, perhaps she and Pol could get them together anyway, they could comfort each other, they were both clearly lonely.

* * *

><p>"Hmmm six feet two inches," Poland said, he'd had to stand on a chair to measure Russia's height. He then wrapped the tape measure around Russia's chest, "Forty-six inch chest hmm," and his waist, "Thirty-six inches on the waist! You need to lose weight, dude. A good suit will hide that paunch – you leave it with me." He proceeded to measure Russia's inside leg – at which point Russia stumbled backwards in shock, tipped backwards and landed with a thump on his bed.<p>

Lithuania couldn't help but be both shocked and in awe of his best friend's courage. This was precisely why he loved him.

* * *

><p>The next morning found Latvia, Ukraine and Russia all with hangovers. Russia had passed out on his bed on a pile of clothes, still clutching a vodka bottle, with Boris purring on his chest.<p>

Latvia swore she would never drink with Feliks and Katya again, but at least she'd got 'Ivan' out of her system. She was rather excited about going to the meeting, it would be a chance to see Austria's house.

Poland, Lithuania and Estonia were up early and had divested Russia of his credit card – again – and gone shopping. Although shopping in Soviet Russia was hardly exciting for the ordinary Soviet citizen, the three Nations had Russia's ID and special Government pass which enabled them to go to the top department store which was usually reserved for members of the Communist Party and Government officials. There they bought clothes for Russia and Latvia (which Poland picked out) – their main excuse for their trip - but also new saucepans for Lithuania, make-up for Poland and underwear for Ukraine (picked out by a blushing Estonia – much to Lithuania and Poland's amusement).

By the time the six Nations were ready to leave for the airport, having left plenty of food for Boris and leaving the cat-flap open, Latvia and Russia were both in new clothes and both were looking decidedly uncomfortable. Latvia was wearing a new skirt and jacket outfit (she kept tugging the skirt down to below her knees). Russia was in a new dark suit and tie, although he insisted on wearing his scarf. Ukraine said he looked "dapper", Poland was quietly pleased that he'd finally got him out of his uniform, whilst Estonia thought he looked like a funeral director. They had failed to part him from his long winter overcoat though – he said he needed somewhere to store the new metal pipe Ukraine had given him.

He'd been rather pleased with Ukraine's gift although he wondered why it was engraved with 'pink flamingo'. He also thought Latvia looked very cute in her suit and tried very hard not to stare.

Latvia, for her part, thought her boss actually looked quite handsome - for once. But she cleared her head and thought of the coming few days and actually going to a conference as a girl and what her fellow Nations' reactions would be. However, in her battered old suitcase she had her sniper rifle and the service revolver she'd stolen from 'Ivan' – all for protection obviously, after all for the first time she was going to be meeting France and all those other idiot male Nations as a girl.

Estonia picked up the post as they left – along with a Bank of Russia credit card statement. He trembled a little at the sight of it, but decided he would deal with it later.

**Author's Note: 1610 refers to when the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth invaded and took Moscow until 1612 (Poland and Lithuania were quite bad-ass back then – not saying they're not now).**

**Tsarina Catherine II – Catherine the Great – obviously took liberties here, but have seen fanfics where Ivan was one of Catherine's many lovers.**

**By the way, for Russia's 'vital statistics' – I got his height from the Hetalia character profiles on .com and from the Lollidictator User Guide and Manual fanfics. Obviously, I made up the rest.**


	14. Come Fly With Me!

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following: Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell, and every one else who has read this story.**

**This is just a quick insert – I wasn't going to write this chapter but it's loosely based on the experiences of a friend of mine who's just come back from holiday and had the flight from hell – so it's partly her story– and it made me laugh so much I did a spit-take (she'd be Lithuania, but obviously she didn't travel with Russia, Poland and the others although Poland is loosely based on another friend who travelled with her)**

Chapter 14 – Come Fly With Me!

Pulkovo Airport, Leningrad, Russia

The Nation known as Lithuania was tired, dog-tired and the time was only 11.00 am. He hated flying anyway, well actually he hated flying with the people he usually travelled with – namely his boss Russia, Estonia, Latvia, Poland and Ukraine. The only plus he could see at the current time was that there was no Belarus with them, she only complicated matters to an impossible degree where Russia would be hiding under a table in a bar and they'd have to somehow bribe security to release the said female Nation for carrying knives in an airport.

Currently, however, Russia was strangely quiet and calm, Lithuania had lived long enough with him to know his moods and he was relieved to see Russia sat in the airport bar watching with childlike fascination as planes landed and took off. He knew his boss would be fast asleep as soon as they boarded the plane – they were heading west and the further they headed west the more Russia's landmass was slipping away from him – at this time in the morning it was already early evening on Russia's eastern seaboard so by the time they reached Vienna it would be the middle of the night. Because of his eleven different time zones Russia could fall asleep anywhere any time but this was always made worse when he was out of his country.

At least Latvia appeared to be a calming influence on the big Nation, she was sat opposite him at the moment reading a newspaper and listening to her Sony Walkman jigging her blond head to ABBA no doubt.

It was Poland and Ukraine who were the problem. They'd been in every duty-free shop and had really gone to town with Russia's credit card. Make-up, underwear, perfume, sunglasses (sunglasses? Lithuania thought – we're going to Vienna), giant Toblerones and of course, Russia's week's supply of vodka - otherwise he would be totally unmanageable. And Lithuania was left carrying all the bags and the boarding tickets and the suitcases – in a squeaky trolley which had a tendency to swerve left. He also carried everyone's passports, visas and other identity cards as he believed – rightly – that no-one but himself could be trusted. He was right, Russia had lost a number of passports down toilets, Poland was so spacey he had a habit of leaving his on whichever table they'd been sat at and Latvia invariably tucked hers 'somewhere safe' and they'd once spent all of half an hour at the boarding gate whilst she'd dug through all her pockets before she'd found it.

Estonia had long since disappeared with his own boarding pass and passport saying he "had business to do".

Finally, Lithuania dragged Ukraine and Poland out of the shops to check their baggage in. Unfortunately, they were well over the baggage weight allowance and the snotty middle-aged woman behind the desk told the harassed Lithuanian that he was required to pay 60 rubles. Toris looked fervently around for Russia, it was at this point, for once in his life he wished his boss was there. Usually Russia and his pipe could sort these situations out, but Toris spotted the big Russian - totally oblivious to Lithuania's waves – gazing at Latvia's legs. Estonia was also nowhere to be seen, and Poland, who was stood beside him, was filing a nail and commenting on the awfulness of the airport staff uniform – in full hearing of the official in front of him.

"Okay I'll just pay the 60 rubles," Toris sighed.

"Don't pay me," the official said, "Pay over there," and she waved vaguely towards the other side of the airport.

Lithuania, his normal easy-going nature getting more and more stretched by the minute, said in a terse voice "And where, pray, is there?"

The woman pointed "Customer Services," she said.

Lithuania shoved the Himalayan pile of luggage and bags at Poland, picked up the form the official had given him and strode off muttering to himself, his headache getting worse.

By the time he'd found 'Customer Services', he felt he may as well have walked all the way to Vienna and by the time he'd got to the front of the queue he was truly ready to reform the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and invade this idiot, slow-moving, security-obsessed country. (Only Russia's size and strength stopped him, or perhaps the fact that he had a migraine coming on, who knows?)

After filling in a dozen forms and paying the 60 rubles – all watched by a large female official with a moustache, Lithuania stomped back to Poland (it felt like he'd stomped all the way to the country of Poland) and back to the head of the queue for checking-in. He heard the growls and mutterings behind him as it looked as if he'd queue-jumped, but by now he felt like filling someone's mouth with his fist.

By the time he'd divested himself of their suitcases – thank goodness they had 'diplomatic immunity' otherwise he doubted Latvia's rifle and revolver (where on earth had she come by that?), Russia's Kalishnikov and Ukraine's small calibre pistol would be allowed, but with the special government official status they carried they could pretty much carry anything – within reason. The most dangerous item Poland carried was nail varnish remover. However, for some ridiculous reason which made Lithuania even more annoyed he wasn't allowed to check-in the shop purchases and was told by the woman that he'd have to carry them on the plane.

So poor Lithuania heaved six heavy bags across the airport trying to find his fellow Nations – Poland having 'gone to, like, powder his nose' and Ukraine was nowhere to be seen. He dumped the bags with Russia and Latvia, the former glanced up at him "What's wrong, Toris, you look a little irate?" Russia asked.

Toris decided not to answer that question but said instead, "I'm going for a cigarette."

Russia considered going with him, should he leave the lovely view of Latvia's legs or should he go for a cigarette with Lithuania? Finally, he decided to stay where he was happily watching planes taking off and landing – he still couldn't understand how that worked – and stealing glances at Latvia.

Lithuania trudged off to find the 'smoking area'. After asking a morose-looking official – what was it about these Russians? He was directed towards Gate 300. Surely not, he thought, this has to be a joke. Unfortunately, it was not, he almost gave up after walking for what seemed like hours but his nerves were shredded and he knew if he didn't have a cigarette he would likely rant at someone and if that someone was Russia he would be going back in a body-bag.

Gate 300 turned out to be a small open-aired enclosure – not unlike an enclosure one would see at a zoo, where fellow smokers – most of them harassed-looking Russian husbands – were huddled together like refugees from the freezing sleet that was coming down. Lithuania huddled with another like-minded soul, shared a light and took all of three grateful puffs before an announcement was made over the tannoy.

"Can Toris Laurinaitis please come to the Lost Children's Corner, his Mummy and Daddy are waiting for him."

"Dear Lord," Toris thought, "what the hell?"

Toris, now in such a mood he might even have taken on Russia himself, strode back into the airport and found the Lost Children's Corner - where he found Poland and Ukraine.

"Like, where is my stuff?" Poland asked Lithuania.

The official behind the counter looked Toris up and down, "This was a large child," he thought. "Is this your son, Ma'am?" he asked Ukraine.

"Oh yes, thank you so much, we were so worried." Ukraine said.

"He's much older than erm," here the official glanced at his notes, "Ten?"

"He is, but he's special," Ukraine emphasised the word 'special'.

Lithuania grabbed his 'Daddy' by the arm, "Your stuff is with Russia, can I not just get some peace?"

"Like what's wrong, Liet?" Poland turned big green puppy-dog eyes on Lithuania.

"Aaargh!" Lithuania shrieked in pure, unadulterated frustration.

It was then that the call came to board their flight to Vienna came over the tannoy. For some reason, Lithuania found himself carrying six bags and trying to manoeuvre four Nations through security, Estonia was no doubt already aboard. Lithuania ceased to care.

Every time Russia went through the metal detector it lit up like a Christmas tree and each time Russia would step back around with a child-like look of wonder and step through again just to watch it light up again. After the sixth time, a large – but not as large as Russia – KGB Border Guard gingerly took Russia's metal pipe from him – and Russia stepped through the barrier again. By now there was a long queue behind them and Lithuania, his arms almost to the floor from the weight of the bags – although Poland reluctantly carried the lighter one containing make-up – was ready to commit murder. After four further attempts (for some reason the metal barrier lit up every time Russia stepped through) the security guards, having examined Russia's ID and passport, let him go through.

"That was fun!" Russia chirped happily.

This was not the word that Lithuania would have used, however, he gritted his teeth as they trudged through seemingly endless miles of corridor before actually reaching the aeroplane. By now, Lithuania had no hands left – they were holding the bags, although Ukraine had taken the Toblerones from him and were munching them thoughtfully – thus, their boarding tickets were in his clenched teeth.

The stewardess took the tickets from the Lithuanian's mouth gingerly, Russia, Latvia and Ukraine having steamed on ahead, Russia waving carelessly at Lithuania behind him, "He has our tickets!"

For some idiotic, moronic, unbelievably stupid reason, they had boarded at the front of the plane, whilst their seats were at the rear.

Therefore, Lithuania had the ignominy of carrying now four heavy bags of shopping - mainly bottles of vodka - down the aisle of the now full aeroplane trying not to hit anyone in the head and failing miserably. By the time he'd got to the last row of seats he'd been glared at and tutted at and one woman had muttered "disgrace, all that alcohol!"

He surveyed his choice of seats – Latvia was sat in a window seat and he considered throwing her out, however, Russia was occupying the two seats next to her and looked as if he was bedding down for a snooze. Lithuania knew better than to disturb a sleeping Russian.

The row opposite had Ukraine (already munching her way through the second Toblerone) and Poland sat in the window seat calmly reading a fashion magazine. Latvia looked up at Lithuania, glanced sideways at Russia's bulk next to her as he shifted, shuffled and then stuck his feet out in the aisle, curled his himself up like a large dog and placed his head on the armrest between them. "Do you want to sit here, Toris, I know you like the window seat?" she said hopefully.

Lithuania for once did not feel inclined to help Latvia out, she'd nabbed the window seat, had been as much help as a chocolate teapot since they'd got to the airport and he didn't feel inclined to spend the whole of the next five hour flight being used as a pillow by Russia. "That's okay, Raivis," he said, "You stay there, with Mr Russia," he added with an uncharacteristic sadistic smile.

Russia, already asleep, smiled at the Latvian's name, snuggled further down and rested one large hand on the smaller Nation's knee. Latvia squeaked and drew herself back further against the window.

Lithuania smiled and opened the locker above Ukraine's head. To find someone else's stuff there instead. By now his patience had well and truly run out. He hauled the random bags out and shoved their – meaning Ukraine's, Poland's and Russia's – shopping in. A man in the row in front of Ukraine jumped up "That's our shopping!" he exclaimed.

Lithuania drew himself to his full height of five feet ten inches, the old warrior of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth evident in his eyes and said with a growl, "And?"

As if to punctuate this, Russia, like a large wolf, snarled in his sleep. Latvia, by now was very nervous – she wasn't used to being quite this close to her boss – carefully patted his head as if he were just that – a large dangerous canine.

The man tutted, but picked up his bags and attempted to shove them elsewhere – before Lithuania did.

Toris turned to Poland and pointed, "You!"

Poland looked up with an innocent look, "Me?" the Pole said.

"Yes, you. Out! That's my seat!" Toris ordered.

It was very rare for Lithuania to get assertive but when he did the others (apart from Russia) did tend to listen.

Poland grumbled and moaned, but moved seats.

It was thirty minutes into the flight before Estonia turned up – he announced to the disgust of Toris, that he'd been in business class the whole time, but he'd only been able to book two seats and 'wondered where they were'.

A likely story, Toris thought. The Lithuanian was about to jump up to join his fellow Baltic in the comfortable recesses of business class away from the crying children, munching Ukrainian, moaning Pole and snoring Russia, but he was too slow, Ukraine leapt to her feet, took Estonia's arm and practically dragged him to the front of the plane.

It was a long flight. Poland spent much of it moaning about the price of goods advertised in the up-market fashion magazine he'd bought, there was a child in front of Lithuania's seat which screamed incessantly, Russia was snoring like a train, his huge feet sticking out into the aisle, and to top it all, Lithuania could feel his migraine worsening. His only consolation was that Latvia appeared as uncomfortable as himself. She was squashed against the window with Russia's head resting in her lap, unable to move for fear of waking him but occasionally patting his head when he mumbled incoherently as he twitched like a large dog in his sleep.

**A/N: So much for a quick chapter. Apologies readers, this chapter doesn't advance the plot(?) or story at all, but I wanted to put it in (just an indulgence on my part – sorry guys but I do write the story primarily for myself!).**

**Toblerones are pyramid-shaped nougat and honey chocolate bars that come in various sizes.**

**The Sony Walkman that Latvia would have been listening to would have been the cassette version that was out in the 1980s – not an mp3 or even a CD version.**

**Diplomatic immunity – there is such a thing as diplomatic baggage where embassy staff and government officials are allowed to carry baggage that doesn't go through the normal security clearance at borders – usually they carry government documents. I've used artistic licence and am not sure if this would cover weapons - probably not but who knows?**

**Russia's time zones – back in the Soviet Union days there were around 11 time zones, (this is now I think about 9) – they adopted daylight saving time and are trying to reduce this further.**

**Next chapter is definitely the World Conference with Nordics, Bad Touch Trio, US, Bela, Iggy and some very random pairings. Cannot believe it's took 14 chapters to get there!**


	15. Open Your Eyes

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following: Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell, and everyone else who has read this story.**

**This chapter and subsequent ones take place at Austria's house**

**Warnings: The Nordics and France. Sexual innuendo, fluff and a vague sex scene – hope I've kept it T rated – if anyone is offended and thinks it should be M please don't hesitate to tell me.**

Chapter 15

Mansion on the outskirts of Vienna, Austria

"The silver, the antique chairs and those paintings shall all be put into storage and I want all the vintage wine stored in the cellars, please." These orders came from a dark-haired be-spectacled man in an old-fashioned blue velvet coat with cravat and black trousers.

The servants to whom the orders were being given all exchanged glances.

"I don't want anything, and I mean anything, of value left around, do you understand?"

The servants all nodded. One, a young woman with an intelligent face wearing a rather old-fashioned maid's uniform stepped forward, "Sir?" she ventured.

"Yes, what is it Adelaide?" Austria asked his housekeeper impatiently.

"How many guests are you expecting?"

Austria rubbed his temples and wondered again what on earth possessed him to offer to host this meeting.

"There should be around 20 but allow for 30, oh I don't know... let me think. Oh yes and on no account let Mr Gilbert Beilschmidt in at all, do you understand, all of you?"

All the staff nodded, they understood and they remembered what happened last time he was allowed into the mansion – the stains would never come out of the drawing room carpet and Helga the cook was still in therapy. Who would have imagined that someone would be that idiotic to drive a Harley Davidson through a mansion at full-pelt?

"Right I think that's everything, please just... do your best..." Austria felt defeated already and not one Nation had arrived yet. He had a feeling this was going to be costly, in more ways than one.

Adelaide waited until the rest of the staff had dispersed to carry out orders and approached her boss. She had worked for him for almost 15 years, having come into his service still as a girl – her mother and her grandmother and generations of her family before her had worked for the man they called Roderich Edelstein – he often referred to himself as 'Count' Roderich Edelstein von Hapsburg and various other ridiculous names. Her father had been his chauffeur and groom and his father before him had been a gardener. So obviously she knew he was the personification of her own Nation, Austria, and although proud to be in his employ and proud to be of service to her country, she thought he was a mean, humourless, boring old fart. "Sir, just one thing..."

"Yes, Adelaide what is it?"

"Gerald, Sir. We've tried our best but he won't be quiet, he's very restless Sir and I think he might cause a lot of trouble. These _guests_..." she used the word carefully, having guessed that they were Nations like her boss, "... these people, do you think they'll be bothered? Or scared? Because you see, Sir, we're used to him, but if you're not..."

"Yes, it's okay, my dear," Austria smiled at his employee, although he called her 'my dear' it was more in the way a grandfather would talk to a granddaughter, "I'm sure Gerald won't frighten any of the guests. Some of them" here Austria shuddered, "are more likely to scare _him_."

* * *

><p>Vienna International Airport – same day<p>

Austria was correct in his assumption. Some of those guests were now arriving. One, a blond Frenchman in particular was shimmying his way through the airport blowing kisses at all and sundry. France was disappointed by his visit to l'Angleterre. Once more the 'uptight Englishman' had evaded his attentions – with a woman no less. But France decided this meeting would be the one where Arthur would finally be his.

Not far behind the fragrant Frenchman came five blond men. Leading the way with a huge inane grin plastered on his happy face and a small hat cocked chirpily on his head was the Nation known as Denmark. Following him was a stoic, rather grim looking tall blond man. Sweden was still annoyed at Denmark's 'activities' as Santa and was resolved to keep a close eye on his fellow Nordic. Finland and Norway came close behind, whilst following at a distance and pretending – in vain – that he wasn't with them was Iceland. He had reasons of his own for this behaviour, he wanted to keep out of the way as much as possible. He didn't intend to stay at the meeting for very long and in his suitcase carried the ways and means to finally achieve his long-held dreams. And no-one, he decided, no-one was going to get in his way, not even - here the small Nordic Nation gulped -Switzerland.

"Shops, woohoo!" Denmark yelled as if he was never allowed out, actually this was true, if it could be helped - Norway did not allow him out on his own.

"Hahahahaha!" The Dane was laughing as he spied France flicking through the books for sale, "Francis is buying romance novels!"

"It is because I am the Country of Lurve," Francis said, "What are you? The country of bacon?"

"Hahaha, I'm the country of beer!" Denmark answered, as usual his voice invading every ear within a 500 metre radius.

Francis ignored him and picked up the latest bestseller – Lucinda Lovelace's 'Symphony of Love'.

"I love her books, they are sooo romantic," Finland squeaked and snatched it from Francis' grasp.

"They have the ... how you say... sex, honhonhon?" Francis asked, getting down to the nitty-gritty.

"Nooo, they're romantic and it's all about love." Finland sighed.

Sweden smiled at his "wife" and took the book to the cash register.

Two small children who were perusing the sweet counter espied the Nations and ran outside the shop, only to return with another half dozen other children – all dressed in scout uniforms.

"It's the bad Santa!" one scout yelled.

Denmark turned happily and waved.

"...And his elves!" shouted another.

"The Elf police!" shouted yet another scout.

"Can we have your autographs?"

Sweden's cheeks blazed red and Finland sniffed, "Santa's reputation will never recover" he whispered to his 'husband'.

Sweden paid for the novel, grabbed the Danish man - who had been happily signing autographs – by the scruff of the neck, and exited the store.

"Go get a taxi and try, please, not to mess that up, chat anyone up, reveal your boxers or anything else unbecoming." Sweden told Denmark.

"What are you? My dad?"

"Thank heavens I'm not," Sweden sighed.

The five Nordic Nations hailed a taxi and, with five suitcases and a life-size cardboard cut-out of Darth Vadar, headed for Austria's abode.

* * *

><p>"G..e..r...m...a...n...y!" a high-pitched highly-excitable voice echoed around the airport. Most people looked up in surprise to see who would be shouting a country's name.<p>

A diminutive brown-haired young man, eyes half-closed with a huge happy smile on his face ran up to a tall blond, serious-looking man and flung his arms around him.

"Don't call me that in public!" Germany hissed.

"Sorry, Ludwig," Italy whispered, "I missed you it'll be good to be in Austria's house together I haven't visited him for so long I wonder if Gerald is still there, it'll be fun won't it especially as all the Nations are going to be there I can't wait to see Romano it's been a week since I saw him and big brother Spain and big brother France but France says strange things to me. Germany what's ménage a trois? Is it a cake? I've got my pasta in my bag would you like some when we get there? I think I saw Denmark signing autographs back there, some children were calling him 'bad Santa'. I thought Finland was Santa? Didn't Finland give you some of those naughty books with pictures on them in the War?"

Germany sighed heavily and rubbed his temples, Italy's speech came out at a hundred miles an hour with barely a pause for breath. All the while Italy was swinging his arms around like a windmill, his little face beaming.

"Do you think we'll be able to share a bed again? It was really fun last time wasn't it? Please don't tie me to the headboard again." Italy said – far too loudly for Germany.

A lot of people turned and stared at the pair.

Germany grabbed Italy by the arm and almost marched him out of the airport, all the while muttering under his breath. This was going to be a long couple of days. The German hoped that everybody would just once – just once – follow the agenda that had been laid out and that nobody would fight, fall into bed with someone inappropriate, re-enact any wars or battles and that his older brother, Gilbert, was still where he'd left him – in his basement with enough video games, beer and soft porn magazines to keep him going for months.

Poor Germany was going to be wrong on all these counts.

* * *

><p>Soon afterwards, the flight from Leningrad arrived.<p>

Estonia and Ukraine were first to disembark and were already sat with the luggage waiting for their fellow Nations.

Lithuania and Poland waited until all the other passengers had left the plane before they decided it was safe to wake the sleeping Russian. Russia had slept the whole 5 and a half hours flight and, apart from the odd snore and twitching, he could have been taken as dead. Latvia, who had been used as a pillow by her boss and had not dared move the whole time, was now desperate for the toilet.

Waking Russia was always a delicate procedure at the best of times and one not to be taken lightly. They had no protective body armour and Ukraine was nowhere to be seen. Lithuania took a deep breath and gently shook Russia's shoulder "Sir, Sir, you have to get up now," he said urgently.

* * *

><p>Russia was in his own little dreamland. And what a lovely dream he was having. He was back in World War II, in a respite from the fighting he'd been on scout patrol alone, and come across a cute little girl sniper who'd needed warming up. Poor little thing – she was just a bundle of clothes and tangled nerves and had nearly shot him until he'd called out "друг".<p>

He'd been surprised - to put it bluntly - that she'd actually allowed him to put his arms around her - two people's body heat was better than one, he'd reasoned. And he'd been even more surprised when, after lying with her back against his stomach (she'd said her back was cold) that she didn't thump him or pull away when he'd gently kissed the back of her neck. It was quite a grimy neck – underneath an equally grimy and greasy long blond plait, but then again he suspected he smelled rather like a garbage truck. And besides, she was quite cute, particularly when she breathed his name in a sweet non-Russian accent. He decided she must be a foreigner probably Polish or Lithuanian, although her name - Aija - was unusual. Never mind, he decided she was cute and after sharing his vodka and the rations he'd stolen from a dead German, he'd settled down to 'warm her up'.

He'd marched all day so was already tired, but hadn't been too tired for more 'manoeuvres'. Thank goodness he'd still got a packet of condoms in his pocket (not those silly little, extra small ones he'd had to send to Alfred).

Eventually after manoeuvring their way around the many layers of clothing, some shuffling, snuggling, a bit of giggling, elbows getting in the way and some oohs and aahs, they managed to have gentle, unrushed sex and then slept. Well she had slept anyway. She'd had her back to him and he was cuddling her from behind – her bottom (clothed now like the rest of her unfortunately he thought) resting nicely in his lap, his arms around her waist. The snow had stopped falling but it was still cold, well the tip of his nose – the only bit of naked flesh on show – was cold, the rest of him and her was wrapped in two Red Army greatcoats and was toasty-warm. His sub-machine gun was lying next to her sniper rifle within arm's reach.

Russia disengaged one hand and stroked her cheek. He'd decided as soon as it was light he was going to take her back to headquarters, get her out of this awful shitty war and hopefully move her into his apartment in Moscow. He sighed happily, for the moment, this was lovely. He could have stayed there all night and watched her sleep. Actually he couldn't really see much of her at all as it was a pitch-black moon-less night. But it was still nice and he didn't want to move at all, until he heard a sound which made his head jerk up and his hand untwine itself from around her little waist and reach for his gun...

* * *

><p>"Sir, Sir... You really have to get up now..."<p>

Russia came to the present and sat up hurriedly. His blond hair was stuck up and his cheeks were very red. With one very large hand he grabbed hold of Lithuania and nearly throttled the poor Nation.

"I need the loo, Sir, please," came a voice behind him.

Russia released Lithuania and turned to see Latvia still squashed against the window, now crossing her legs in desperation.

"Ooooh, erm, I..." Russia tried to stand up but instantly sat back down again. He had, shall we say, restrictions in the trouser department - a consequence of his dream/memory.

Latvia, by now very worried that she was going to wet herself, thought 'what the hell', and slithered past him, almost landing in his lap.

Russia's cheeks blazed scarlet and he leaned back in his seat as far as he could, and tried not to touch the smaller Nation. Having the small Latvian girl almost on his knee was not helping his 'predicament'.

"Big ignorant sod," Latvia thought as she squeezed past him and then hurtled down the aisle to the toilet.

Russia tried hard to think of something, anything that would help his 'situation'. It was, weirdly, Lithuania who helped, "I wonder if Belarus is here yet, Sir?"

Russia smiled at Lithuania, "Thank you Toris." He hummed with relief and eventually, after adjusting his clothing, jumped up to follow Latvia off the plane.

Lithuania shook his head "What was all that about?" he wondered to himself as he collected their shopping from the overhead locker, and where the hell was Poland?

Poland was, all this time, making inquiries of the air stewardesses. "So, where do you get your uniforms from? Can you, like, buy them? I would, like, look totally cool in that cute hat and jacket, not sure about the scarf though, sweetie."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**Друг means friend in Russian.**

**The reference to bacon is due to Danish Bacon (but you knew that didn't you).**

**Can't tell you yet who Gerald is yet – you'll have to read further to find out. Also Adelaide is an OC and human but I wanted to add an unbiased observer to the proceedings. I don't know why I picked the name Adelaide as it's not an Austrian name, I just like the name!**

**Menage a trois is French for threesome.**

**Also if you're not sure what Russia's 'predicament'/problem is, then I'm not going to enlighten you, use your imagination.**

**Have tried to keep it T rated – very fluffy I know. I assumed M rating to mean very heavy descriptions of sex, violence etc – and as I didn't go into bodily details, this should be okay?**

**As an aside, I'm thinking of writing Latvia's back story of the war including her meeting with Ivan as an extra story when I've finally finished this one.**


	16. Legend In My Living Room

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following: Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell, and everyone else anonymous or otherwise who has commented, alerted, favourited, reviewed or PM'd me.**

**Warnings: Fluff, swearing, very mild violence, Nordics, Prussia, France and America.**

Chapter 16 – Legend In My Living Room

Austria's Mansion, Vienna.

Deep in the bowels of Austria's mansion, in the wine cellars to be exact, a white-haired young man with a look of cunning in his red eyes that would make Satan Himself stop and back-track, was relaxing on an antique velvet sofa, sipping German beer and reading what appeared to be a magazine with lots of pictures of nude women in it. The ex-nation known as Prussia, aka Gilbert Beilschmidt had made himself well and truly at home. All the antiques, the vintage carpets, paintings and wine that Austria had insisted on being stored away were just that – in the wine cellars, and Gilbert had fashioned himself a little living space out of them.

"Kesesese, how awesome am I? Stupid Austria, no-one can beat the Awesome Me!" Prussia was always talking himself. He was often alone, in his brother's basement - but talking to himself ensured that he would not fade away. He had no intention of doing that. As long as someone somewhere thought of themselves as Prussian or awesome – usually both, he would exist. His sole reason for living at the present was for pranking the other nations. Particularly Austria, who he thought was a mean jackass with no sense of humour, and Russia. The latter was far more dangerous to prank and he was aware when he did it that he could inadvertently get Lithuania – who he quite liked – into trouble.

But he hated that 'fat commie bastard'. After the War had ended he'd been beaten up and captured by Russia and had spent the most un-awesome week of his very long life doing menial un-awesome chores for the most un-awesome-ist Nation to walk the planet. After a week of no beer, two black eyes and shit food, he'd had enough and decided to get the hell out of there. And when the great Gilbert decides to do something, he goes ahead and does it. He'd stolen a motorbike and gotten out of 'that crapsack place', but not before he'd spray-painted 'Prussia roolz' all over Russia's house – inside and out.

Riding for freedom to the borders of East Germany – his own land - he'd acknowledged, he'd just escaped to West chased by the most un-awesome Red Army close on his tail. Awesome. Thereafter, he'd made it his raison d'etre to prank Russia whenever and wherever he could. He infiltrated meetings, sent threatening chain letters and prank-called him - all at a safe distance. Austria was easier to prank, that stupid Aristocrat didn't have the balls to hit him – besides 'Roddy' hit like a little girl.

Gilbert grinned happily to himself and patted the boxes next to him – one containing a tool box, the other an assortment of Chinese firecrackers and laughed "Kesese, idiot Roddy won't know what hit him."

* * *

><p>Adelaide, probably the only sane person in the house, had been showing the various Nations or 'guests' as her boss insisted on calling them to their rooms. They had been told to call each other by their human names, which is what Austria's employees were instructed to call them. But Adelaide knew better and had pretty much already guessed which 'guest' was which Nation.<p>

The Nordics – five blond men – two who were very tall – the cheeky one with the spiky hair had already patted her bottom and given her his phone number whilst hauling a crate of Carlsberg lager into his room – were given two rooms between them – which they proceeded to squabble over who was sharing with who:

"I am not sharing with him, he belches all night!"

"Hahahahaha, you wish you could share with me!"

"If you don't shut up in there I will come and sort you all out."

"Shut up, I am not your brother, and no I'm not calling you big brother either."

* * *

><p>The strange little man dressed in the skirt who said 'like' all the time and called her 'sweetie' she'd decided must be Poland – he was now downstairs talking animatedly with the randy Frenchman who had already propositioned her and given her a rose, swearing undying l'amour.<p>

A large-breasted woman with a hairband in her beige-blond hair with a Slav accent had disappeared into the kitchens – Adelaide assumed from what she'd heard Austria and Miss Elizaveta say, that this must be Ukraine.

The four Nations she was now showing to their rooms she immediately identified – mainly because the large blond man with the weird purple eyes kept calling the other three by their Nation names. This, she decided had to be Russia, the one her employer had warned her not to antagonise at any cost.

She proceeded to show Russia into his own room – the only Nation not to be sharing a room – as usual no-one would willingly share with him (apart from Belarus of course). The three other Nations she showed into another room which had a large king-sized bed.

Although the three Baltics had shared a bed on previous occasions – purely innocently of course – the last time had been a particularly traumatic experience and was an event they all wished to forget. They had all been booked into a 'family' room with Russia at a hotel and had found themselves sharing the sofa bed in the corner which was normally suited for the occupancy of two small children, whilst Russia had spread star-fish like on the huge double bed and snored all night so loudly that the room had vibrated. The big Nation had offered to share his bed with any of 'his precious Baltics' but they'd all tremblingly refused.

"We can't share that!" Toris said, putting his foot down with a firm hand.

"My orders are that Toris Laurinaitis, Eduard von Bock and Raivis Gallante can all share a room." Adelaide answered, checking her pad.

"It's not appropriate," Latvia said. She trusted Toris and Eduard – they were like brothers to her, but decided that it would not do for her reputation as a girl to be seen to share a bed with two guys, even if one of them was gay and the other a computer geek.

Russia stormed down the corridor, having already thrown his suitcase on the floor of his room, bounced up and down on his bed and checked that the lock on his door worked. "Little Latvia is not getting into bed with these two," he told Adelaide as he loomed over her.

Adelaide looked up at the Russian, she'd worked for Austria for going on fifteen years and was used to being shouted at, although Austria was largely 'all mouth and no trousers'. "If some of these guests don't turn up then she can have her own room," she answered the big Russian.

"You can share my bed... I mean not my bed... my room... I mean I will sleep on the sofa..." Russia told Latvia, getting increasingly flustered, his cheeks turning a flaming red.

Latvia backed off and looked at Adelaide beseechingly.

* * *

><p>Downstairs, Austria and Hungary were having a 'domestic'.<p>

"Why on earth did you agree to host this meeting, Roddy?" Hungary said exasperated.

"It was my turn. It was either this or it would have been held at France's place and I don't think I can stand having to check for hidden cameras in every toilet again. Or Ludwig's where you have to clean up after yourself every ten minutes and his dogs slaver all over you and there's Gilbert... And do you really want to go to Arthur's and endure those awful cakes again? Spain's an ass and is never prepared and I don't want to spend another night on an airbed again. Feliciano just serves pasta and ... oh yes... pasta and pasta. I'm not going to Greece's as I'm allergic to cats. And then there's Russia's house and who in their right mind would go there? He may never let us out again. Besides..." here Austria dropped his voice, "I'm getting a grant of money to host it."

"Oh I get it, it's all about money!" Hungary said, "That's all you're bothered about isn't it?"

"I just like to save money. With the money I get from this, I could do the place up."

Hungary looked around the once grand hallway, the ancient house had stood for centuries and it showed. It wasn't just wallpaper that was hanging off the walls, plaster was too.

"Help me out, Lizzie," he said, using her pet-name and gazing at her with his purple eyes, "I'm going to need you in the next couple of days, I can't handle these buffoons on my own."

"Humph." Hungary snorted and was about to answer when they heard shouting from the floor above.

"Russia!" they both exclaimed and ran up the stairs.

"What's the problem?" Austria asked Adelaide.

"She says she won't share a room, Sir, what do I do?"

"She can share with me," Russia said simply, blushing. However, he gave a sidelong glance at Hungary who was brandishing her cast-iron frying pan. Russia was intimidated by no-one, but Belarus made him jump – mainly because of her unwanted attentions and he couldn't return them or hit her; Ukraine frequently made him feel like a little boy again; and Hungary and her frying pan caused him to think twice.

"Latvia's a girl?" Austria stared at the smallest Baltic who blushed as she looked back at the aristocrat. "How inconvenient. And how inconsiderate of you," Austria said to Latvia. "Could you not have been a girl after the meeting?"

Latvia sighed, she wasn't listening to the Austrian, which was just as well really. Her thoughts mainly ran into how lovely his eyes were and how elegant he looked.

Russia growled, ignored Hungary who was waving her frying pan dangerously about and laughing at her ex-husband, and grabbed Austria with one hand by the neck and lifted him to eye level. "You are pissing me off. Give her a room or you will be meeting my friend, pain, da?" Russia emphasised the word 'pain' with a waving of his fist in Austria's startled face.

Austria dropped to the ground, coughed elegantly and straightened his jacket. "Adelaide, put Miss Latvia in with Miss Lily."

* * *

><p>"Zo, zis Brad person in zi books iz based on Roddy? Honhonhon. Zis is fantastic!" Francis exclaimed in the most dramatic ultra-French accent.<p>

"That's what I said, I mean like, Latty-kins is in love with Austria and she based the hero on him!" Poland, being Poland and the biggest gossip in the galaxy was telling France the latest drama in the Russia household, conveniently forgetting that he'd promised Lithuania he wouldn't say a word.

"... And leetle Latvia is a girl you say? Zat is very amusement. She is very pretty, non?"

"Well, I don't know. But you should be careful cos like Russia kind of, like, likes her," Poland warned the Frenchman.

France was not listening, all this knowledge had made his brain explode.

A femme he had not attempted to seduce! Granted he'd tried to grope Latvia when she was a boy, and had received a warning from Russia, but that was cancelled out. And Latvia was the author of 'Symphony of Love' that he'd been reading avidly since arriving! This was just too good! He vowed he would 'cure' the pure little, misguided innocent little flower of her enchantement for the stupid aristocrat. After all, he – as the Nation of Love – should be the object of a young girl's love and lust. Ha! Austria! No wonder there were no 'le sex' in her books. Le France would teach the young girl all about l'amour. His plans for getting Arthur to have wild, drunken sex with him – again – were set aside as he had a new challenge – to deflower a young maiden.

With these thoughts in his head, the Frenchman headed upstairs to the bedroom he was sharing with Spain – when the latter Nation arrived that is – to bathe and attend to his attire – he was determined to seduce the 'leetle' Baltic.

* * *

><p>"Dad! Mom!" These words were uttered by a small young boy in a sailor outfit at Sweden and Finland. "Latvia's a girl!"<p>

"What are you talking about, Peter?" Finland asked.

"Raivis, my best friend is girl!" Sealand was devastated – his best friend the one with whom he infiltrated meetings – often paid by Prussia to do so – to lay tacks on Russia's seat and once (with hilarious results) putting itching powder on Jerk-England's chair – was a 'soppy girl'.

"That's explains a lot," Sweden said wisely.

Denmark grinned a feral, cheeky smile, "Oh yes! Another female Nation!" He checked his hair in the nearby mirror, "I'm in there!"

"I think you've done enough chatting up women to last anyone," Finland said, shuddering – thinking of Denmark's activities in IKEA.

"I should tread very carefully, I don't think she's such a little innocent thing," Norway said cautiously.

* * *

><p>The 'poor little innocent maiden' was in a room with Liechtenstein showing the latter her sniper rifle.<p>

Although the pair had been tentative friends before, over-protective Switzerland (to the point of fanaticism) had stopped them spending more than five minutes alone together. However, now Switzerland found that Latvia was a girl he was more than happy to let his beloved little innocent Lily befriend the little Baltic. He was glad that she finally had an appropriate female Nation as a friend. He'd long since decided yaoi-loving Hungary, manic knife-wielding Belarus, French-influenced Belgium and the spacey Ukraine – who was too close to Russia for Lily's 'safety' – were not good influences on his Lily. Seychelles, Taiwan and Vietnam were all too far away, thus little Latvia he decided could be a good, safe, female friend for his sweet, innocent little Lily.

So both girls were laid side by side on the bed confiding in each other. Latvia, finding for once, a sympathetic ear to her story – not a cynical or drunk one such as Ukraine or Poland – told Lily a quick shortened version of her days in the War as a sniper, how she'd come by the Red Army service revolver which was in her bag – "Ooooh, Ivan," she sighed, admitting to herself she'd _still _not got over the mysterious Russian officer.

For her part, Lily told Raivis _her _own love story, "He's coming for me tonight. I just hope everything will go okay. If big brother sees him, he'll shoot him."

"It's so romantic. Oh Lily," Raivis sighed and got her pad out and started making notes.

"I know, I shouldn't elope but Switzy just won't let me out of his sight. What else can I do? But how do I get past Switzy?" Liechtenstein said desperately.

The two girls could hear 'Switzy' in the next room moving around – checking his rifles no doubt.

"I'll be the decoy while you two escape," Latvia said – but not without some trepidation. Switzerland could be intimidating and had aimed his rifle at her once before when he thought she'd been chatting up Lily – they'd actually been discussing their mutual love of heavy rock music. But this was all in the name of 'love'.

* * *

><p>"Bloody hell, what in the name of all that's cricket, are you wearing?" England exclaimed as he got out of the taxi with a very grumpy Belarus. The Belarusian had been snarling and grumbling the whole way from London, and England was getting rather fed up of it. His exclamation however was not aimed at Belarus, but at America.<p>

"What do you think? Cool eh?" The American answered - he appeared to be wearing a long mud-coloured gown and was waving around what looked to be long thin glowing stick.

"Why are you wearing a dressing gown?" England asked frowning. "You look like a tramp."

"Yo, check it, I'm a Jedi Warrior! Get with it, Arty! I'm Luke Skywalker the hero! Do you like my light-sabre?"

Belarus approached him, snatched the 'light-sabre' from his hand and swished it around experimentally – and in an alarmingly expert fashion, "I like it," she announced.

"You bloody idiot," England said and sighed audibly, it was going to be one of _those _meetings.

Both Belarus and America looked at the Englishman with annoyance.

"What are you doing with Belarus?" Alfred 'Skywalker' whispered to England as they entered Austria's mansion.

"Please, just ... just don't ask," England said. He hoped to God he could get to the bottom of her bad mood and her insistence on not holding his hand on the flight and pretending she wasn't with him – it didn't gel with their previous 'almost kiss' and their night of passion. However, Tinkerbell had kindly whispered a few things in his ear regarding this so-called 'night of passion' which just didn't tally at all.

**Author's Notes:**

**Prussia's escape from Russia is a nod to a scene with Steve McQueen in the brilliant war film, The Great Escape. I could not imagine Prussia spending very long under Russia's roof and there's also hints from fandom that he lives in Ludwig's basement. So I went with that.**

**Raison d'etre – reason to be (reason for living)**

**Femme – French for woman**

**Luke Skywalker and the light sabre are from the Star Wars (but you knew that didn't you?)**

**Next Chapter: Karaoke, seduction à la France, The King of Northern Europe, Romano and more revelations. Oh and possibly a balcony scene. Not in that order. Probably. And yes, I know some nations are missing - explanations in the next chapter.**


	17. Romeo and Juliet

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following: I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell, and everyone else anonymous or otherwise who has commented, alerted, favourited, reviewed or PM'd me. **

**Thank you - all these reviews keep me going and encourage me to keep writing!**

**Warnings: implied yaoi, silliness, ghostly goings-on, Prussia, Denmark, France, Romano and sheer fluff.**

Chapter 17 Romeo and Juliet

America, alias Alfred Skywalker, the Hero of the Western World, was hanging onto England's arm in their shared room. "Arty, can I share with you? Dude Poland said there was a ghost." America said in a shaky, not-so-big Hero voice.

"Oh dear Lord, I suppose so. At least you might keep that wine-loving Frog away from me and I'm sure there isn't a ghost." England sighed as if he was talking to a ten year old. He'd decided as he wasn't going to get very far with Belarus that night, he may as well share with America. "You sleep on that side and I'll take this side," England said and placed a sharp dividing line down the bed with a barrage of pillows. "And no, definitely, no hugs, cuddles or..." he shuddered, "huggles." He did not want Belarus to think he was anything less than extremely heterosexual (erm yeah).

"Woooooo!" A spectral being – actually Prussia with very bad theatrical make-up and a white suit attempted to float into the room – in actual fact he stomped in as if he were an invading army.

The Hero practically jumped into England's arms, "Argh! It's the ghost!"

"Kesese!" Prussia laughed hysterically, "Dude, I totally got you, how awesome am I?"

"You're an ass, that's what you are." England said, dropping America.

The English gentleman proceeded to leave the two members of the 'Awesome Trio' to their stupidity as they told each other how awesome the other was and went into the bathroom where he thought he might at least get some privacy. He was wrong. In the bathroom was an old man dressed in very old-fashioned dark clothes, his hair was white, his face was white and he had the unmistakable bearing of an English butler.

"Oh I say! What you are doing in my bathroom?" England exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Sir, were you wanting to use it?" the voice that came from the butler was melancholic in the extreme – so sad and depressing it was the audible equivalent of watching paint dry.

"Well, er, yes actually I was, old chap. I say, are you the butler?" England asked. It had been many years since England had come across a real bona-fide butler.

"Indeed I am, Sir. I've been in Mr Austria's employ for 500 years."

"My word! You're a ghost! Splendid!"

"Not really Sir. I'm doomed to spend eternity with Mr Austria."

"Why's that, old chap?" England asked.

"He killed me, Sir!" This was probably the only interesting thing Gerald the butler had ever said in his long after-life.

England was shocked and was about to ask what on earth would possess his fellow Nation to kill his faithful butler when Gerald dissipated – in a very boring way.

* * *

><p>Downstairs in Austria's large elegant ballroom, a karaoke contest was under way – much to Austria's horror. Finland, Norway and Sweden were all singing – rather badly it had to be said – ABBA songs.<p>

"You can't do karaoke with Mozart." Finland told the Austrian when he'd complained vehemently.

Since most of the Nations hadn't eaten since arriving and Austria refused to provide dinner for them, one enterprising Nation (actually America who had started to panic) rang out for 20 pizzas, several garlic breads, two side salads and a diet coke.

The room arrangements – after much shouting, stomping and idiocy – had finally been sorted.

Germany – much to his chagrin – was sharing with the two Italies as Romano flatly refused to share with 'that tomato bastard'. As there was both a double bed and a single bed in Germany's room there was hot debate as to who would sleep where. Germany offered to take the single bed and let the brothers share – which did not suit Romano – "... and put up with garlicky hugs all night?", whilst Feliciano did not want to sleep alone, "I like Gerald, but when I used to live here, he used to come into my bedroom and try to throw me out of bed, he said I was a lazy Italian. I'm sure he wouldn't do that if I shared with you, Germany."

Germany had some sympathy with this 'Gerald' whoever he was, he thought Feliciano was lazy, but he didn't really want to share with Feliciano either. Thus a row broke out with Romano flatly refusing to share with either his useless 'fratello' or that 'potato bastard' as he named Germany. It was still unresolved when they went downstairs, Italy now in a blind panic as he'd not eaten for over two hours.

Spain and France were sharing a room – no-one else would share a room with France. Spain was largely oblivious as to the reasons why – namely the Frenchman's 'nocturnal habits'.

Sweden, Finland and Sealand were all sharing a room (Sealand on an airbed), whilst Norway had the dubious and unenviable honour of sharing with Denmark – as did Iceland. However the latter Nation had other plans.

Ukraine shared with her sister and with Belgium. Ukraine got on well with Belgium, whilst Belarus sulked and refused to be drawn on where she'd been the last few days.

Hungary found herself sharing with Austria, "Well that's a bit presumptuous I must say, Roddy." She said to her ex-husband.

"Oh Lizzy, we were married for 51 years! And you lived with me for a long time before that!"

"You'd better behave Roddy, I've moved on, don't just think you can get me back just like that."

* * *

><p>Some fool had put Greece and Turkey in the same room. Within one hour of Turkey entering the room there was chaos as both Nations hurled insults and furniture at one another. It was only Switzerland's calming influence – and rifles – that stopped any bloodshed. Finally, Turkey agreed to swap rooms with Switzerland's room-mate – Canada – and peace reigned – for a while.<p>

* * *

><p>There was still the question of the missing Nations – one a G7 member – Japan. China had also been invited as an important economic power as well as Netherlands and Luxembourg.<p>

Eventually, after much insistence from Russia and Russia's Mr Pipe, America rang Japan's cell-phone, "Dude, Kiku, where are you?"

"Bondi Beach! It is terrible! Improper! Oh America-kun, there are half-naked women everywhere!" The Japanese man was almost hysterical – in a quiet way.

"Bondi Beach, where's that?"

"Australia. You complete tool," England informed him.

"We're in Australia!" America shouted back, completely baffled.

"We're in Austria! For God's sake Alfred get a bloody atlas. You told everyone Australia. It's a different sodding country."

Russia snatched the phone from America, "Is Mr China there?"

"Hai, he is playing volleyball with... oh that is not right! China! Phone call!" Japan could be heard telling someone to 'put a top on and stop dis-honouring the ghosts of their ancestors'.

"What is it, aru?"

"China, you are missing a meeting. You should be here, comrade. I need a friend here," Russia said to his oldest friend.

"Oh well, it is too late now, aru," China answered.

"I could come over there and bring you back," Russia said.

Over at Bondi Beach, Sydney, Australia, China looked around at the beautiful beach, the beautiful women, the sun, Netherlands surfing with a pipe in his mouth, Luxembourg sunbathing and said, "You would hate it here, comrade, it is a terrible capitalist place. Do not come, Ivan. There is no vodka!"

"Oh no, poor you! That is terrible. I should invade and liberate them, da?"

"Oh I have to go... I'm going into a tunnel!" China hung up.

"Poor Yao, he sounds miserable," Russia said sadly, putting down the phone.

"Indeed," England raised an eyebrow. Bloody China, Netherlands, and Luxy – clever buggers. Why hadn't he thought of that? He could have been sat on a beach with topless lovelies instead of here in this dilapidated mansion with these morons.

When they told Austria they'd phoned Sydney, the aristocrat fainted with shock and had to be carried out.

* * *

><p>The karaoke was well under way – Lithuania and Poland had sung 'You're The One That I Want' to each other and earlier a rather drunk Denmark had sung 'Suspicious Minds' to an embarrassed Norway, various songs were well and truly hung, drawn and quartered to Austria's utter horror.<p>

The serious drinkers however (and the not so serious) were in a corner competing in an elaborate drinking game.

Ukraine, a still gloomy Belarus, Belgium, Estonia, Russia, Spain (with his guitar) and Germany were all listening to Poland (dressed in an air stewardess's uniform) reading very dramatically from Lucinda Lovelace's novel 'Sweet Surrender'. Every-time the words 'orb', 'desire', 'love', 'unrestrained' and 'passion' were read out each Nation had to take a shot of whatever drink they had in their hand.

Not all of the Nations understood the joke or the connection (Spain, Russia and Germany were oblivious), Belarus – finding out that Latvia was a girl – was livid with jealousy and assumed immediately that it was an elaborate plan by the Baltic to get 'precious brother', Belgium thought the whole thing was hilarious. Lithuania, however, had beaten a hasty retreat and was laid in the room he shared with Estonia – and probably later, Poland, with a flannel over his eyes trying to rid himself of his migraine.

Thankfully, Latvia was not around to hear the laughter her novel was causing.

* * *

><p>France was prowling elsewhere – like a predator he had hunted out his prey and was now stood outside Latvia and Liechtenstein's door. He sniffed the rose in his lapel, clutched the bottle of champagne and checked his pocket for condoms, all ready. He knocked on the door.<p>

Latvia opened the door warily, terrified lest it should be Russia asking her if she wanted to 'share his room' again. Seeing it was France she felt some alarm and... slight disappointment.

"Bonsoir, ma cherie. You are alone, oui?" Francis attempted to jam his foot in the door whilst leaning suggestively against the doorway (everything Francis did was suggestive – the only Nation who could make retreating in battle 'sexy').

Switzerland, like an over-protective guard-dog, flung open the door of the next room and, cocking his rifle at France, said "Put a sock in it, Froggy and leave them alone."

Francis' immediate reaction was to reverse, "Oh sweet Switzerland," her purred.

Latvia's eyes widened, "Erm, Mr Switzerland," she ventured, "I can handle Mr France," she said. France, compared to Russia was a piece of cake, surely?

Switzerland reluctantly withdrew back into his room where Turkey raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Honhonhon, you can handle me zen, oui? Perhaps you will meet me downstairs for a little love a la France?" Francis said, putting on his most smouldering look, deciding it would be better for his health if he did his romancing out of Swiss earshot – and gunshot – range.

Latvia smiled at France in what she thought was a seductive way, "I'll meet you," she said breathlessly, gently fingering his lapel, "... in the kitchen pantry at midnight, Monsieur France," she said.

"Midnight, but why zo late?"

"I'm busy 'til then!" she said and slammed the door. It would give her breathing space until she'd decided what to do with him.

"Hmmmm, l'amour!" France sashayed down the corridor singing to himself.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, outside in the grounds of the mansion, the youngest and smallest of the Nordics, Iceland – his suitcase in his hand, was scanning the upper storey windows.<p>

He spotted what he thought was the correct one, put his suitcase down, picked up a sizeable stone, took aim and threw it through the open window.

"Yo! Not cool! My gorgeous hair, man!" Denmark stuck his head out, rubbing the back of his spiky blond head with one hand.

"Nicely done!" came the shout from the next window – England reckoned whoever the stone-thrower was should be a bowler in the England Cricket Team.

Denmark stuck his head back inside. Lounging on his bed was his friend and fellow conspirator of the Awesome Trio – Prussia. The latter had been drinking beer and watching the tall idiotic Dane gel his hair into gravity-defying spikes.

"So, who are you after again?" Prussia asked his friend.

"Little Latvia," Denmark answered.

"Dude's a dude? You like dudes, dude?"

"Hey some people just can't get enough of me, yer know? Hahaha, no, Latvia's a chick." Denmark said, applying more hair gel to is already outlandish hair.

"No way, man."

"Yes, way, man."

"Awesome!"

Denmark grinned happily and pointed at himself in the mirror – liking what he saw, "Check it, dude!"

"How could she possibly resist the King of Northern Europe, dude?" Prussia smirked.

"Exactly."

It was actually amazing how two such huge egos could fit into one room. Indeed how they'd fitted their massive heads through the doorway was a question that is beyond the wisdom of the author.

* * *

><p>Another knock on Latvia and Liechtenstein's door – just as things were getting interesting on their balcony.<p>

"Hey!" Denmark said, as Latvia tentatively opened the door. This was usually his sole chat-up line. Unlike Francis who would talk and talk a woman into bed with wine and roses, this was Matthias in full flow.

Latvia looked him up and down, disappointment etched on her face. What was it with these idiots tonight?

"Check it, chick, your dreams have come true." Denmark said and winked – he really was putting his 'all' into it on this occasion.

"I doubt that very much," Latvia answered dubiously. What on earth was going on? Was she a moron magnet?

Before Switzerland could come rampaging out of the door again, she had a brainwave, "Meet me at midnight in the kitchen pantry, Mr Denmark," she said.

Denmark laughed, "Hahaha, pulled! In your face, Froggie!" He said, assuming – correctly – (one idiot sensing another) that France had already attempted seducing the little innocent Baltic and he swaggered off happily down the corridor assuming that 'Froggie' had been unsuccessful.

Latvia slammed the door shut and turned back to Liechtenstein who was hanging out of the balcony gazing down at Iceland.

"Lily, Lily! Won't you come down, oh Lily!" the young Nordic shouted up.

"Shush don't shout, Icy! Vash will hear you!" Lily answered.

"I love you! I have all the papers! I even have a getaway driver!"

There was an ominous sound from the room next door as 'Switzy' – his sister radar on full alert, started re-loading his rifle.

"Just go!" Latvia shoved Lily towards the balcony – threw the latter's case into her hands and turned to the door. Liechtenstein threw her case down to her lover and jumped – into Iceland's waiting arms. Iceland promptly fell over – thank goodness they were on the first floor.

Switzerland burst into the room, "What's going on?"

"Oh, Switzerland! You gave me a start!" Latvia, taking all her ideas from her slushy romance books, pretended to swoon in the Swissman's arms.

Switzerland had no alternative but to catch her.

"Oh Switzy," she said, "You're so manly!" She carefully manoeuvred him around so that his back was to the window and the retreating, running figures of Lily and Icy.

Iceland gave her the thumbs-up as he ran towards their waiting car.

"Erm. I am? Oh!" Vash was very surprised, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been called 'manly' – apart from by his little sister that is.

"Drive, drive!" 'Icy' shouted as he jumped into the waiting vintage BMW with Lily.

"Dammit, volcano-bastard! You'd better be paying me for this, I don't want my head shot off by that cheese-bastard when he finds out!" Romano retorted back.

The Southern Italian Nation swung Austria's car out of the driveway, put his foot on the pedal and then practically threw the Austrian's 'pride and joy' through Vienna towards the airport and for the next flight to Seychelles.

* * *

><p>After despatching Switzerland with a kindly pat and reassuring him that Lily was in the bathroom and she was fine after her 'fainting spell', Latvia went to find the kindly maid, Adelaide and Hungary – both of whom she decided could help with her predicament pertaining her two Romeos. She'd considered running to Russia and putting on a suitable damsel in distress act – but decided that could have dangerous and violent repercussions.<p>

Therefore, come midnight it was with much hilarity that Hungary, Latvia and Adelaide hid behind the kitchen counter and waited for Latvia's two erstwhile Romeos. France was the first to enter the kitchen pantry – wearing – much to the girls' amusement – nothing but a rose covering his southern regions and carrying a bottle of champagne. Then Denmark entered the said pantry already unbuckling his belt and carrying a bottle of beer. Before the two Nations could utter a word, the three women slammed the door shut and Adelaide locked it.

"Honhonhon, my little flower! Prepare for some l'amour."

"Hello little Latvia. Are you ready for some Danish bacon?"

"Que?"

"You're not little Latvia?"

"I can be whoever you want me to be, big boy, honhonhon!"

"Ooooooooh okay."

Hungary clapped her hands, she'd already set up a video camera in the pantry – this was so easy. She was going to make a fortune from this.

**Author's Notes: the 51 years Austria is referring to is the duration of the dual Austrian-Hungarian monarchy**

**Hai – Japanese for yes**

**Fratello – brother (sibling) in Italian**

**Ma Cherie – my dear/my sweetheart in French**

**Que – what in French**

**Author apologies for the bad French accent.**

**The drinking game – I got the idea from the 'My Immortal' drinking game.**

**Next Chapter – hangovers, a world meeting – at which chaos will ensue, revelations revealed and finally the King of Bad-asses himself – Russia - gets very very very angry. Please note no characters were harmed in the making of this story.**


	18. Making Enemies

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Warnings: swearing, very angry Russia, idiocy and England's baking.**

**Chapter 18 – Making Enemies**

Austria's Mansion, the next morning

Most of the Nations were badly hungover from their Lucinda Lovelace drinking game and many of them did not end up in the bed they were originally allocated to.

Denmark and France were finally released from the kitchen pantry by an innocent-looking Adelaide. Both Nations looked quite ruffled and both had idiotic grins on their faces. However, they were both disgruntled that the little 'innocent' Latvia had pulled the wool over their eyes and were determined to get revenge.

"I cannot believe zat. I, ze nation of lurve, was fooled by a leetle femme!" France said dramatically.

"Not cool," Denmark agreed.

However, Hungary was ecstatic with the results of the plan as she retrieved her video camera.

Austria was not happy, he'd been handed just a steering wheel by Romano the night before with the words, "Better re-attach this before you drive that crap car of yours, Piano Bastard."

Switzerland was also unhappy, he'd gone to check on his dear sister and found a note from her telling him that she'd eloped with her 'true love' and that she would see him after her honeymoon. Putting two and two together, he guessed, correctly, that Latvia had played him for a fool and was going to give her a piece of his mind.

Belarus was another Nation who was determined to 'have words' with Latvia. A drunken air stewardess (actually Poland) had told her – inadvisably – but then Poland was the queen of gossips – that Latvia and Russia had had a one night stand. However, what Poland failed to tell her was that this one night stand had happened nearly 40 years before. Belarus' feelings were topsy-turvy to say the least. She'd arrived deciding that her love for her dear brother was a no-go and just sibling love and what she felt for England was totally different. But after many years of rejection she was scared to commit herself and felt safer if it was _her _doing the rejecting. However, after hearing the news that Latvia was a girl and even worse her brother held an affection for the little Baltic nation, her possessiveness went into over-drive and she was determined to put a stop to it.

* * *

><p>However, all the above had to wait until after the meeting which was about to be held in Austria's grand dining room.<p>

Most of the nations were there: America (chairing the meeting), England, France, Denmark (who now sat as far as he could from France – "It was just the one night, dude, keep your hands off me!"), Germany, both Italies (Romano ignoring Austria's glares), Austria, Sweden, Finland, Norway, Canada who sat next to Russia, Darth Vader (a life-size cardboard cut-out of the Star Wars villain not the real Darth Vader) on the other side of Russia, Greece (who was snoring with Austria's cat on his head), Switzerland (grumbling and cleaning his rifle), Spain and Turkey. Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia were not invited – being part of the Soviet Union – which was being represented by Russia. Estonia didn't care, he had gone into the city to 'do business', whilst Lithuania was actually having some quiet time to himself.

The female nations and Poland were in the next room holding their own meeting.

Latvia and Sealand were under the table – they had secreted themselves under the large, elaborate dining table before the meeting had started with the aim of causing as much mayhem as possible. (Prussia had paid them 50 DM each.)

"Dudes are we ready to convene the meeting?" America shouted, waving his beloved light-sabre around. He'd even slept with the blasted thing. He pointed at Darth Vader, "I see the Evil Empire has sent a representative? Hahaha!" he laughed uproariously at his own joke.

Russia looked up, "Eh? You are calling the Soviet Union evil?" Russia did not understand, he was also already annoyed, he hadn't seen his 'little sunflower' Latvia all morning, Lithuania had also done a disappearing act so he'd had trouble finding out where to get coffee, Belarus had shouted "Brother, brother" at him until he'd run – he didn't stop to find out what that was about and he had a bit of a hangover. It wouldn't take very much to push him into full purple aura kolkolkol mode, particularly as this Darth Vader person wouldn't talk to him.

England decided now was the time to cause a distraction and he did what all the nations dreaded. It was what all nations feared above any war, any mad dictator – England's baking.

"Mein gott! Instead of sending the RAF to bomb me in the War, why didn't you just throw your cupcakes at me?" Germany said.

Some of the nations actually leant back in their chairs as if the tin England had placed on the table did indeed contain a bomb.

"I'm scared! Oh Germany!" Italy whimpered and clambered on Germany's knee.

"They're not cupcakes, they're buns." England said proudly.

"Dude you said you wouldn't again, not after last time," America said quietly – for once.

The buns were a weird brown colour – chocolate-flavoured possibly, with virulent green icing.

"Mon dieu!"

"Don't worry, dudes, they're contained, they can't get out, they're in a tin." America said.

Russia decided it was time to re-assert his authority as the largest nation and, with all eyes on him, took a bun. It felt rather like a crumbly cannonball and he was impressed with the weight of it. "I'll eat it later, da," he said. No-one believed him.

America, not to be outdone, also reached out and took one.

England was ecstatic, "Belarus said my cooking was alright!" He said as if this was a vindication.

Underneath the table, Sealand carefully untied England's shoelaces and then retied them – left shoe to right shoe. He was expert at this - he had the fingers of a pickpocket and was adept at undoing pockets, unzipping flies etc so that the owners suddenly found their trousers around their ankles.

"She's the Devil's daughter!" Russia exclaimed shuffling in his seat at his sister's name. Unbeknownst to him, Latvia was right under his feet and had to dodge to avoid his size 14 army boots.

"She's wonderful, my true love, my one and only..." England finished hurriedly and eyed Russia nervously.

Russia hadn't computed this and was busy weighing another of England's 'buns' thinking that they made good weapons.

"You and Belarus? Seriously? Dude! Respect!" America almost yelled.

"But you are not dead? Injured? Wounded? I don't believe you!" Denmark butted in.

Many of the male nations – Spain, France, America, Denmark, even Canada all compared scars from their attempted seduction of Belarus.

"Eet iz true, I saw zem," France said, "It is l'amour!" He said dramatically.

Russia, several beats behind everyone else looked up, "You cooked with my sister?"

Someone sniggered and Sweden smacked Denmark around the head, "Cooked, Matthias, cooked," Sweden said.

"Well, she helped, she likes my cooking," England said.

"You like my sister?" Russia cocked his head on one side and looked at England as if he had just landed in a spacecraft.

"I love her and..." England paused, "... I'm going to marry her! She doesn't know it though," he murmured to himself.

Russia grinned – this was going to be the best meeting ever. "You have to marry her now to..." he thought hard, "... protect her virtue."

Several male nations glanced uneasily at each other around the table, Greece snored loudly and twitched.

America coughed nervously, "Moving on."

Underneath the table, Sealand proceeded to steal various objects from the nations' pockets. There were certain Nations that even the courageous little principality would not touch – namely France and Russia. However, he'd already nabbed a Swiss army knife from Switzerland, a packet of cigarettes from Spain, a battered empty wallet from Austria, a driving licence from Romano – with twenty endorsements on it, a very long list of names from Finland's pocket with ticks and crosses next to them and hair gel from Denmark's pocket. Sealand didn't attempt to steal from his 'dad' – Sweden - and only stole the 'list' from Finland's pocket so he could check if his name was on it. Latvia – usually a willing participant in these japes, was too busy trying to dodge Russia's huge feet, however, she bumped into Italy's instead.

Italy gave a start and stuck his head under the table. No-one thought that this was anything but normal behaviour for the Italian and he pronounced "Yay!" and proceeded to feed her biscuits as if she were a dog.

"Moving on..." America started again, "The security codenames for each nation are up for renewal and if everyone is happy, I'll pass the okay on to the CIA." America passed a piece of paper around.

Sealand, under the table was checking the list he'd stolen from Finland (his 'mum') – "Latvia," his whispered, "Look, he's put that I've been bad!"

Latvia sighed she was hoping to find out something juicy and probably prank those idiotic Romeos - France and Denmark, however, she found herself sat at Italy's feet being fed biscuits "Good doggie," the Italian said and patted her on the head.

"What codenames?" Sweden asked.

"The codenames we came up with in the War. We had to have codenames for y'all in case any of us were captured. Me, Arty and Ivan came up with them," America answered.

"You mean Arthur, Ivan and I? Correct grammar, please," England sighed.

"Yep, Frenchie went off with some girl and Yao had gone to bed with a headache, me, Arty and Ivan got drunk after one of our Allies meetings and we came up with the codenames."

"Da, I remember!" Russia smiled happily – he'd enjoyed the camaraderie in the War, he'd liked having 'Allies' and friends. The actual War was shit and he still bore the scars to that day.

"Honhonhon, I am ze Frog Prince!" France seemed to like his codename.

"And I'm the hero – Prince Charming!" America said.

"Snow White? Why?" Canada asked.

"Cos of the snow, Canadia," America stated simply.

"Of course I'm Peter Pan," England said.

"Roddy's Rumpelstiltskin!" France said.

"We took the names from fairy stories and children's stories," England explained, rather pleased with himself. He thought they were very 'fitting'.

"I take exception to that," Austria said.

"Why am I Jack?" Denmark asked.

"Because Iceland is Jill... Jack and Jill went up the hill to get a pail of water..." England was very chuffed with himself.

"I am the Shoemaker?" Sweden said.

"Yes, Elves and the Shoemaker... please come on people, get with it," America said.

"Lithuania and Poland are Hansel and Gretel, Greece is Sleeping Beauty, Hungary is Cinderella, Ukraine is Wendy, Belarus is the Snow Queen, Belgium is Tinkerbell..." England read out the list, grinning happily.

"Wendy? Why Wendy?" Someone asked.

"Erm she is a character from Peter Pan, moving on..." England hurriedly said. He'd had a crush on Ukraine at the time and called himself Peter Pan and Ukraine - Wendy.

"Estonia is Pinocchio, Liechtenstein is Little Red Riding Hood, Switzerland is Rapunzel..."

"What? I don't think so, you will change that," 'Rapunzel' said, much annoyed, waving his rifle in the air.

"China is Mulan, Japan is Humpty Dumpty, Norway is the Troll King, the Baltic States are the three little pigs and Russia is the Big Bad Wolf."

"Da!" Russia liked that.

England went on amidst the shouting.

"Sealand is Peter Piper, Latvia is Goldilocks, Netherlands is the Golden Goose, Luxy is the Little Match Girl, Turkey is the Phantom of the Opera..."

Turkey shook his head, got up and promptly walked out.

"Romania is Dracula."

"That's not very original," someone said.

England carried on regardless, "Egypt is Old King Cole, Spain is Aladdin, Finland of course is Santa, Prussia is the Ugly Duckling."

Everyone laughed.

"And... Germany is Mother Goose, Italy is Mary and Romano is Little Lamb."

"Mary!" Italy sobbed, "Germany, tell them! They think I am a girl!"

England sat back very pleased with himself, he thought the codenames were brilliant and inspired – mainly his own work, although he'd been impressed with how many Russia and America had come up with.

However, there was chaos, some nations actually liked their codenames and some... did not.

Germany practically exploded, "Mother Goose! Mother Goose!" He ignored Italy or 'Mary' who was still sobbing beside him. "Who the hell came up with that? I suppose you all think that's funny, ja?"

"I came up with it, da," Russia smiled creepily, "It makes me pleasure smile," he said simply.

Germany stood up and leaned across the table at Russia, "Well, I don't like it."

Russia also stood up facing Germany, "You have a problem, Mr Germany, da?" Russia said, clenching and unclenching his huge fists.

It may have ended in an re-enactment of one of their many World War 2 battles if it wasn't for America opening his huge Texan-size mouth, "Well, Germany dude, it could be worse, it's better than Rapetruck Russia!"

There was a horrified silence. No-one moved. No-one would have dared use this 'nickname' in front of Russia – not if they wanted to see daylight again.

England grabbed America and forced him to sit down.

Russia, several steps behind everyone else – rather like being on satellite link – blinked slowly.

Germany hurriedly sat down – much to Italy's whimpered relief and, under the table, Sealand opened his mouth in horror and Latvia gave a little 'ooo' in shock.

Finland whispered something to Sweden who nodded sagely, his eyes never leaving Russia's face.

Russia was still trying to compute what America had said. He got the word 'truck' and assumed it was a dig at his size. Sure he needed to lose weight, but...

"We all know what you do with your little Baltics, dude," America added, unable, apparently to keep his huge gob shut.

Sealand looked in horror at Latvia, who frantically shook her head. She felt like punching the American and hugging her boss.

"Is it like an ice cream truck?" Russia asked innocently. He honestly thought they were comparing him to a beer truck and then, the other word hit him – like a truck.

"I would never!" he spluttered. "Why would I hurt my little Baltics?"

"Those guys are terrified of you, man," America said. England was trying desperately to shut him up.

"They are?" Russia couldn't understand it, he knew he had a temper and sometimes he'd shouted and smashed things. He tried not to hurt them, he loved them, he really did, even Estonia who he thought was a weirdo, Lithuania was like a brother who looked after him and cooked him nice food and little Latvia... even more so now he realised she was a girl. He felt ill, they didn't like him, they never had...

Latvia was seething under the table and just wanted to jump up and fling her arms around her boss.

Sweden, who was still watching Russia, carefully nudged Finland.

"Ivan never touched me when I lived with him. I'm not scared of him, he was always kind to me," Tino said quietly.

Russia gave the Finnish man a little smile but then his purple aura blazed as he turned to America, "Who has been saying such things... such vile horrible things about me?"

"Well, Livonia when he lived with me..." America mumbled – he had to mumble – England's hand was over his huge mouth.

"Wut?" Russia snarled.

"You called him your ex! What was I supposed to think?"

"My ex-housekeeper! You spread these rumours about me. You say I am a..." Russia spat out the next word, "... rapist..." He slammed his chair backward and the table went crash. Everyone leapt back as Russia launched himself at America.

America gauged the situation and did what any big hero nation would do when faced with the unstoppable rage of someone built like a beer truck with the mindset of a grizzly bear – he ran. But not before he threw some of England's buns in his wake to slow Russia's onslaught.

The upturned table revealed Latvia and Sealand who were both hauled to their feet by Germany.

"You two!"

England grabbed Sealand, "Peter, you shouldn't be here."

"He came with us, me and m'wife," Sweden interrupted and took Sealand from England's grasp.

Sealand looked up at Sweden, "Thanks, Dad," he said, "Jerk England" he said to England and then stuck two fingers up at Germany.

Germany took hold of Latvia."You were not invited to this meeting, Miss Latvia."

Latvia squealed as Germany grabbed her rather roughly by the arm, she tried to spin round to kick the German in the shins, when Russia stopped dead in his tracks, his pursuit of America forgotten. "Take your hands off her," Russia growled.

Latvia broke free and, to everyone's amazement, ran to Russia's side.

Germany was livid, "I am fed up of these nations and" here he paused and glared at Sealand who gave him 'the finger' from behind Sweden's back, "... and non-nations coming into these meetings when they're not invited."

Russia placed Latvia behind him protectively, kicked an errant chair out of the way and strode up to Germany. "You can shut your fat Germanic mouth. Who died and made you King of the World?" Russia snarled, his purple aura now blazing, the room temperature dropping.

Italy whimpered and tried to pull Germany away – fruitlessly – it was like trying to move a mountain. Latvia was trying to do the same thing with Russia.

Sweden and Sealand both suppressed a smirk. Denmark grinned and murmured to France, "Fifty kroner on the big Russian?" Greece snored.

Austria was horrified, "I will not have any more of my furniture broken. You will pay for these damages."

Next door the female nations – with Hungary chairing, were holding their own meeting – FUN – Female United Nations. Poland, believing himself to be more female than the female nations, had joined them. Adelaide sat with them – having brought in coffee and biscuits.

However, Hungary's speech "... and with this we can rule the world! Bwahaha!" was interrupted by the shouting from the male Nations' meeting.

Ukraine put down her knitting and marched into the room. She took in the scene – Russia and Germany squaring up to one another, England loading his revolver (he carried it to meetings for scenarios just like this), the other Nations looking on in horror as if it were some kind of slow-motion car crash.

"Vanya! What on earth do you think you're doing? And you Germany? You should be ashamed of yourself, causing trouble." Ukraine's voice was akin to a very old-fashioned English schoolmistress. And it got the required response. Most of the 'audience' suddenly dissipated. "...And Latvia why aren't you with us?" she asked the young Latvian who was hiding behind Russia tugging on his arm.

"Big sis, they called me a rapetruck!" Russia said with the voice of a little boy telling on his siblings, "And then Germany grabbed little Latvia."

Ukraine looked around the room with a very disapproving air, many of the male Nations – most looking very sheepish – were slouching out. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves. And I'm surprised at you two, Berwald and Tino. Mr Germany you should know better, I expected more from you."

The two Nordics took hold of Sealand and left quickly.

Ukraine shook her head and left.

Russia turned to Latvia, "Is that why you pretended to be a boy? You were scared of me? You thought that I would..." Russia broke off, he couldn't bring himself to say the word. The big nation looked less like a big, angry grizzly bear and more like a big teddy bear.

"Who's going to pay for all this?" Austria demanded, holding up the splintered remains of a chair.

"Now is not the time," Hungary said and steered him out.

Germany was about to follow them – to Italy's relief, when Latvia said, "No really Mr Russia, Sir, it was because of Mr Germany and Prussia. I was wanted in the War, I was a sniper in the Baltic Offensive with a price on my head."

Germany spun around on his heels. "You! You were the White Wolf!" Germany was appalled, "You killed dozens of my officers!"

Latvia glared back at him, "It was war and I would do it again."

"You shot an officer who was stood right next to me and then you threw a rock with a white wolf painted on it – your calling card. We tried everything to hunt you down! You threw one of those rocks at my head!"

"Yes I did. I could have killed you – you were in my sights Mr Germany," she said defiantly, but she stood behind Russia's bulk as she said it.

Russia was slowly processing this in his little head, "White Wolf! You fought with the Forest Brothers against my army after the war?"

"Er yes," she now backed away from the two big Nations.

Germany took a step forward and reached for her, his eyes blazing.

"Touch one hair of her head and I will rip your arms and legs off and shove what's left in a vodka bottle." Russia warned the German.

Latvia decided this was a good time to run.

As Latvia flew past him, Italy turned to Germany with the soppiest look imaginable on his little face and said, "Aw Ludwig, it's so romantic. White Wolf and Big Bad Wolf? Don't wolves mate for life?"

**Author's Notes:**

**The list Sealand found was Santa's – i.e. 'he's making a list, he's checking it twice, he's gonna find out who's naughty or nice...' from the song – Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Assuming of course that Finland is the personification of Santa – which of course he is.**

**CIA – Central Intelligence Agency – USA's secret agency**

**The Forest Brothers were a band of resistance fighters from the three Baltic states who fought against the Germans in the War and then against the Soviets after the War during the Soviet occupation of the Baltic states. Many did not give up until well into the 1980s. (But I've already mentioned this.)**

**I gave the name 'White Wolf' to Latvia because I'd read about a sniper called the White Mouse and I quite liked it - it sounded more bad-ass.**

**The codenames for the Nations are all from fairy stories/Grimms fairy tales/traditional Hans Christian Anderson stories etc – all would have been around during the second world war. Me and my friend had great fun coming up with them. If anyone can think of any funnier ones feel free to PM me.**

**Tino's statement – 'when I lived with him' refers to 1809-1917 when Finland was an autonomous Duchy within the Russian empire.**

**Sorry this was such a long chapter. Much shorter ones coming up – tried to split it up, but then it didn't make sense. Next chapter coming up is RussiaxLatvia revelations (finally) Bad Touch & Awesome Trio, and a duel. Maybe.**


	19. Hide and Seek

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**All your reviews, comments etc mean a lot and keep me going!**

**Thank you to Lyell for pointing out my errors in the last chapter (i.e. yes Sealand was a fort and was abandoned by England after the war so technically he probably wouldn't have a codename, also, yes England should have fell over after having his shoelaces tied together) – I got caught up in the tenseness of the moment – my fingers often type faster than my brain!**

**Warnings: a weird game of hide and seek, Bad Touch & Awesome Trio, some angst.**

Chapter 19 – Hide and Seek

Latvia ran. It was something she would have done in Russia's house if she'd accidentally become the target for her boss's ire. However, this time Austria's mansion was much bigger than Russia's so her game of 'hide and seek' should be easier right? It was a game the Baltics 'played' if Russia was in a shitty mood, they would run and hide. Latvia, being the smallest was the champion at this game and could get herself into all the small nooks and crannies and cupboards and had once got herself stuck in the airing cupboard. Usually, by the time Russia found them he'd forgotten what he was angry about; was drunk; and usually hungry.

Therefore, she skidded through Austria's mansion with a large Russian on her tail shouting, "Latviaaaa! Wait!"

She didn't wait, she was terrified. Obviously being the White Wolf in the Forest Brothers was not a good thing she thought, in the Russian's eyes, and she was now going to pay.

She ran outside, circumvented the driveway, thought about stealing Mr Austria's BMW – and found that there was no steering wheel, skidded back around the house and then crouched down in some bushes outside a window – watching Russia skid past her.

Russia stopped dead, looked around, frantically. To all appearances he did look very scary and anyone in their right mind would have run from him. He was holding his 'Pink Flamingo' lead pipe and he still looked very angry. However, in his head, he just wanted to talk to 'his little sunflower' and cuddle her. Slowly but surely he'd made connections in his shattered mind - imagined Latvia in a Red Army greatcoat, a fur hat on her head, a long plait, carrying a rifle and... But where was she? Why was she running from him? Had he scared her that much? By now, his need to find her was at fever-pitch and nothing but nothing would stop him. He ran back into the house still shouting her name.

Latvia gave a sigh of relief, however, what she heard from the open window made her jump.

* * *

><p>The Library, Austria's Mansion<p>

The Bad Touch & Awesome Trios were all sat laughing and joking, drinking beer and taking it in turns to swing Alfred Skywalker's light-sabre around:

"Oh honhonhon… Listen to zis!" France purred. He had somehow procured a copy of 'Symphony of Love', the sequel to 'Forbidden Desire', and was amusing himself by reading out extracts.

"_'Please be gentle…' Fiona whispered to Alexander, as he slowly lowered her onto the bed. 'I've never done this before…' _

_For one moment, as they gazed into each other's lust-filled orbs – his were a beautiful violet hue, while hers were wide and cerulean – the world seemed to stop moving. 'Don't worry,' Alexander murmured, before connecting their lips once again, 'I'd never hurt you.'_ _With the silk sheets wrapped around them, everything seemed far way, and they slowly cascaded into ecstasy…_"

"Aw, come on! I wanted a sex scene!" Prussia complained, putting his feet up on Austria's coffee table.

"Me too, _mon ami, _but there does not seem to be any…" France was now getting impatient, thumbing his way through the book and pausing at various places that looked promising, only to shake his head and continue flipping the pages.

"Oh, guess what! I bought 'Love Conquers All'!" Spain announced excitedly, a devilish smirk on his face. "The hero's a bit more badass, so maybe there might be a bit of action!"

"Kesesese, what are you waiting for? Read us some!" Prussia snickered.

"Well, alright… There's this: _Abigail relaxed into Brad's strong arms, content that her lover wouldn't do anything she didn't want to do. 'Alright,' Brad purred into her neck, slightly disappointed but happy to suppress his own urges to keep his girlfriend happy, 'I'll wait for you, my darling.' And they drifted off to sleep._"

"That's utter shit! What kind of a man says something like that, anyway? I thought you said this dude was a badass!" America yelled, completely ruining the mood and trying to get his light-sabre back from Denmark.

"Well, it says on the back cover that he's the 'rebellious lead singer of a controversial band' while she is 'a model student at a prestigious private school', so…" Spain pointed out, almost shuddering at the cliché summary of the novel.

Outside the window, Latvia also shuddered. However, she also thought, "I'll get them, who do they think they are?"

She was lost in her thoughts – thinking of ways she could possibly lock all five nations in a pantry together as she'd done with France and Denmark when a hand gripped her shoulder, "Aargh!" she screamed, jumping up, thinking it was Russia. However, the hand was not large enough. It was a pissed-off Switzerland.

"You helped my little Lily to elope with that Icelandic idiot?" Switzerland asked, pointing his rifle at her.

"Er, well..." Latvia tried to answer and attempted to shrug him off.

Inside the room, the most observant of the Bad Touch/Awesome Trio, Prussia looked up at the sound of her scream, threw open the window and said, "Hey, little Latty sweetheart, come here to your dear old Uncle Gil..." and held out his hand.

Latvia would never normally accept help from Prussia, however, Switzerland was now glaring at her and was wanting answers.

She was about to do another runner, when Spain, Prussia and America all leaned over and pulled her over the window ledge and into the room.

This was not good, she decided. She should have taken her chances with the Swissman. The window was slammed shut in Vash's outraged face and she was left facing the most idiotic male Nations – all of whom Ukraine and Poland warned her she should never be alone in a room with – apart from America of course who was idiotic but harmless. France, Denmark and Prussia were all gazing at her with weird looks on their faces, Spain was looking his usual oblivious spacey self and America was swishing his light-sabre around like a ten year old and making the appropriate buzzing noises.

"Honhonhon, little Latvia is not zo sure of herself now, non?" France said, approaching her menacingly – if anyone can smooch menacingly that is.

"Dude, you locked me and France up in a pantry. I mean what was that all about?" Denmark said, also approaching her.

"Ooooh, so this is the little Latvia is it?" Prussia said.

"Hola! Little Latvia, do you like tomatoes?" Spain said.

"Dude, this is totally cool! Look it changes colour!" America had finally found the button that made his 'light-sabre' change from blue to red. "Now I can be Darth Vader! Woohoo, rock out!"

Latvia backed off, now what? She had the Bad Touch Trio and idiot Denmark between her and the door. The four male Nations were approaching her, America - the so-called hero - was busy with his light-sabre and she had no-one to turn to.

**Author's Note: Short chappie there my friends. Don't worry I won't let anything bad befall our heroine. (I daren't – I think Russia might have something to say about it.) Also I won't leave you on 'tenterhooks' for long – I'm not that cruel. Next chapter will be a fight and some Russ-Lat goodness. Promise.**


	20. Helter Skelter

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Warnings: Bad Touch/Awesome Trio, random violence, fluff and some Russian angst.**

Chapter 20 (oh dear Lord as Iggy would say!) – Helter Skelter

Latvia started to back away as Denmark, Prussia and France approached. Spain was just grinning and telling her he wanted to 'teach her the tango'. She felt her back hit the window ledge and France's hand reached out and grabbed her waist. He pulled her to him, "Now, my leetle Latvia," he breathed, "Where were we?"

Latvia pulled away from him and said "Right here," and with the word 'here' she kneed him forcefully in the groin, pulled herself away and ran.

Prussia thought this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, "Kesese! Francie's been beaten up by a girly!"

France cupped his balls and groaned, "Ooooh that was not necessary, non?"

Spain grinned idiotically. Denmark laughed, "Hahaha, totally cool, chick got you there, man!"

America attempted to stop Latvia with his light-sabre, "Yo check it, chick!"

"If you don't move, I'm going to shove that light-sabre up your fat arse!" Latvia retorted.

"I'm not fat! Tell her, Gil!" America was appalled.

Latvia – who could move very fast when she wanted - ran out of the library, whilst coming in through the other door was Russia. To say he was angry was an understatement. He spotted Latvia dashing from the assembled male nations and established – correctly – that they'd attempted to molest his 'little sunflower'.

The first to feel Russia's ire was France – whom he grabbed by the throat, "You touched my little Latvia, nyet?"

France panicked, "Not the face, not the face!" he said - he took a lot of pride in his good looks.

Russia cocked his head, his purple aura shimmered, and grabbed France's testicles instead in an iron grip.

"Aaaargh!" the scream could be heard throughout the mansion.

"Touch her again and I will rip them off," Russia said, his voice very low, very deep and very dangerous.

In contrast, France's voice was very high – at least two octaves higher than it should be, "Mon dieu! I promise I won't even look at her!"

Prussia laughed hysterically at his friend's discomfort, "Kesese, look at Francy-pants. He won't be molesting any country for a while! And fat commie bastard's in lurve!"

However, Prussia's observations were cut short as a pipe etched with Pink Flamingo was wrapped around his neck by the said 'fat commie bastard'.

Spain who was still laughing moronically got off fairly lightly. Russia punched him – admittedly with the force of a heavyweight boxing champion – breaking the Spaniard's nose. Denmark was punched in the stomach and was left doubled over – his laughter soon gone. Whilst America, the Hero of the Western World, the Jedi Champion or Dark Lord of the Sith (depending on what colour his light-sabre happened to be) had his light-sabre broken in two over his head.

France collapsed dramatically to the ground cupping his wounded nether regions, "Little Francis are you alright?" he groaned, and said the words that many a Nation – particularly England – had always wanted to hear. "I may never love again..."

Russia, like a steam train, stormed on.

Latvia, oblivious to the chaos in her wake, ran into the stables at the rear of the building and, with a stroke of genius, hid inside a bale of hay.

Russia ran into Lithuania and grabbed him by the lapels, "Where's Latvia?" he asked the startled Nation.

Lithuania was used to thinking quickly on his feet in such circumstances, had seen Latvia hurtling past towards the rear of the house and pointed in the opposite direction. He decided that ignorance was bliss.

Russia sighed, he just wanted to talk to the little Nation, hold her in his arms and finally piece everything together. The fact that she continually ran from him hurt him more than he thought possible. Then he had a rare brainwave. It should be noted that when it came to wars, battle strategy, fighting, intimidation and terrorising others no-one could beat Russia, however, when it came to relationships (particularly with the opposite sex) he was at a complete loss. But he knew that sooner or later Latvia would have to go back to her room and that's where he took himself.

* * *

><p>Right, dear readers, we have to go back in time to an hour previously when Hungary and the other female Nations were holding their FUN meeting (before the commotion from the male Nations' meeting).<p>

"Why are we in here anyway? Shouldn't we be in with the guys?" Belgium asked, "I mean we might be missing something important."

"England's baking anyone?" Hungary said.

"No way, like I'm not eating his scones," Poland said.

"Why are you here? You're not a woman?" Belarus said to the Pole sat next to her.

"Neither are you, sweetie," Poland shot back.

Belgium sighed, it was always chaos when the Nations met up – whether they be male or female and it was actually worse when everyone was together. Old rivalries, ex-marriages, ex-lovers – all with grudges, unrequited love, she sighed. Nothing ever got done.

"Nothing ever gets done in these meetings," Hungary said as if reading her mind. "Any minute now America will say something stupid and Russia the big clod will throw himself across the room to hit him, England will get his gun out to shoot at the ceiling to stop them, Germany will shout, Italy will cry." She said all this with knowing accuracy. "It's time, ladies, to take charge."

"How do we do that?" Ukraine asked, starting another row on her knitting and accepting another cup of tea from Adelaide – the latter sat down, interested.

Adelaide had observed all the Nations for the last 24 hours and come to the conclusion that they were all bonkers. She was also appalled that these people with so much power at their disposal got absolutely nothing done or resolved.

"It's nothing to do with me, but surely if you can all get together, can't you make peace? Surely there shouldn't be any wars if you can all be friends?" She asked innocently.

Everyone – apart from Hungary – laughed.

Ukraine wiped a tear from her eyes and patted Adelaide on the head, "Dear, I'm over 1000 years old and we've always fought."

Hungary reached into her bag and pulled out a box, "She's right, ladies, think about it. What do Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Benito Mussolini all have in common?"

"They're all Taurus?"

"They all like scones?"

"They're all short?"

"They, like, all have bad haircuts?"

"Big brother has fought all of them?"

"They're all mad, blood-thirsty dictators who've caused wars and they're all what?" Hungary tried desperately.

"They all like, wear bad suits?"

Hungary gave up, "They're all men!" She said, exasperated.

"Ooooh."

"If the world was run by women – like when Mother Russia, Ancient Greece, Ancient Egypt, Britannia, Marianne were around – then there would be less wars. Come on, ladies, would we start a war?"

The 'ladies' – and Poland - all looked at Hungary. They'd all fought at some time or another but the wars had left their mark on them. They felt the births and deaths of their people far more than a male Nation did. They were the mother countries after all.

"So? What can we do about it? There are more guys than us, they outnumber us." Ukraine said. She agreed with Hungary – to some extent, although she did believe that some women were far harder than men (thinking of her little sister).

"More female Nations – that's what," Hungary said simply.

"How on earth do we do that?" Ukraine asked.

"We have babies! Girls!" Hungary said.

Ukraine sighed, "I've already had kids, I'm not sure if I want more," she said thinking of Kiev and various other offspring. She had been – shall we say – fertile in her time.

"And how can we be sure they'll be girls?" Belgium said, "I mean it's a good idea, I think."

"If we have kids with humans we just get a state or a city yes? Or sometimes just a boring half-human half-nation," Hungary was thinking of some of America's States and also of France's 'provinces'. "But when we have kids with a guy Nation we get another Nation... and we can kick those war-mongering idiots out."

"So... that doesn't necessarily mean though that we get girls? We could just end up with a load of Frances or Americas..."

"Or Russias!" Poland said with a shudder.

Belarus smiled.

"That's where this comes in." Hungary said simply and pulled out a box.

"What is it?" Poland asked. This was brilliant. He was enjoying this meeting very much and couldn't wait to see what would happen. Besides the girls always had better biscuits.

Hungary pulled out a dozen or so small glass phials full of luminescent pink liquid.

"Is that what I think it is?" Ukraine said, "I thought it was just a legend. Where did you get it?"

"I got it from Arthur. I don't think he knows what it is. I've done my research, ladies." Hungary smiled, very pleased with herself.

"I'd better get some pink wool," Ukraine said.

"I don't understand," Belgium said slowly.

"It's simple ladies. Take a drink of this magical stuff and the next baby you have will be a girl." Hungary said.

"Cool, I mean, like, pink frilly dresses and ribbons. Fantastic," Poland was ecstatic.

"You wear those anyway," Belarus retorted.

Hungary laughed, "The girls we have will be the next nations – the next superpowers and we will kick the guys into touch. We will rule the world. Bwahahaha." At this point, carnage erupted next door.

* * *

><p>Poland picked up one of the pink phials and being the only Nation who did not get up and check on the idiocy next door actually read the instructions inside the box. Always read the instructions, he thought. Hmm, he thought, also serves as an aphrodisiac. That should be interesting. He pocketed the instructions and smiled to himself. The next couple of days should be fun. Poland took one of the phials and emptied the contents into the tea-pot on the table. That should do it, he thought.<p>

* * *

><p>Back to the present:<p>

After hiding for a good hour in the stables, Latvia decided that it must be about time that Russia would have forgotten his anger and should be drinking vodka or threatening some other poor unfortunate Nation. So she emerged, straw in her hair and made her way back to her room. She paused in the grounds as an ambulance went past on its way to Vienna General Hospital.

"I wondered what happened?" she thought.

Inside the ambulance, the personification of the great Nation of Le France was cradling his wounded balls and crying softly, "Little Francis, oh little Francis, please be alright," in a rather high-pitched voice.

Sat next to him was Prussia with a lead pipe around his neck who was trying hard not to laugh and failing, every time he "kesesed" he got a sharp pain in his neck. The paramedics had failed to remove the pipe.

Opposite them was Spain, nursing a broken and bloody nose, but still wearing a daft grin. "Who was that again? Why didn't she want to tango with me?" The Spaniard said.

* * *

><p>Latvia opened the door of her room, slammed it shut, locked it with a sigh of relief – she'd not seen any Nation since leaving the stables – apart from Poland – who'd insisted on her drinking a cup of tea with him and, for some reason, giggling the whole time.<p>

She turned round and screamed at the sight of Russia, nonchalantly sat on her bed, cradling her sniper rifle and a service revolver in his hands.

She turned quickly and attempted to unlock the door and run, however, Russia was too quick for her. He leapt off the bed and placed himself between her and the door.

"Sir, Mr Russia, I was in the Forest Brothers to defend my country... I would never..." she broke off because he was staring at her weirdly.

"I don't care about that," Russia was gazing down at her, "Where did you get this rifle?" he asked and waved her rifle at her.

"It's mine! Give it back," she answered, suddenly with vigour and tried to snatch it from him.

Russia hummed. That was all he wanted to know. "Aija?" he murmured softly, his heart was hammering so hard in his chest he swore she could hear it.

"What?"

He sighed and waved his service revolver at her.

She stepped back hurriedly, still not sure what was happening. Was he going to shoot her, hit her?

"Aija, this is my gun," he said, "You stole it from me."

"What?" she said again.

Russia was seriously wondering if being groped by France had damaged her brain – he'd seen it happen before. So he tried again, "December 1944? A cold winter's night in the forest of Riga?"

"Oh. My. God." She said – sounding very much like Poland.

"Aija," he said again, stepped forward and gently placed a hand under her chin and forced her head up to look into her eyes.

Raivis/Aija/Latvia/Lucinda Lovelace looked deep into Russia's purple gaze and raised her hand to stroke his cheek and then... slapped him.

"You. Left. Me." She said and with each word she punched him in the stomach – hurting her hand in the process.

Normally if anyone hit Russia they ended up being punched into next week, however, Russia just gazed at her fondly with a slight puzzled air. Finally, he grabbed her hands and held them tightly by her sides.

"You left me, you big bastard," she said breathlessly, struggling.

"You left me!" Russia exclaimed. He tried to pull her into his arms, but she was having not of it and managed to pull herself away.

"I woke after... after..."

"...we made love..." Russia interrupted, a glow in his eyes at the memory.

"...And you'd gone, no goodbyes, no by your leave, nothing," Latvia was fuming. Nearly forty years of anger being vented – finally – at her mysterious Ivan who was... no longer a mystery.

"There was a German scout party down in the valley and I went to sort them out before they got to you. There were only about a dozen of them so..."

If anyone but Russia had said that, she would have laughed in their face.

"I came back but you'd gone," Russia said, "I thought you'd just run off." He said this with some experience – that's what normally happened with the women he'd managed to get into bed – they did a runner straight after, usually thanks to his little sister. "I searched everywhere for you." He added sadly.

"I looked for you," she said, "But everyone's called Ivan in the bloody Red Army."

Russia thought this was funny. He'd searched the battalion when he'd got back, field hospitals and lists of the missing. Now here she was. Here she'd always been. He grabbed her in his arms, lifted her up and spun her round and round.

Suddenly he put her down, she still spun round, dizzy and rather annoyed.

"Hang on, you didn't know it was me? When you first came to my house? I didn't recognise you – I thought you were a boy. You looked very different without your long hair, but I still look like me, I've never changed." Russia stopped. Was his little Baltic trying to trick him? Was this all some sort of joke? He knew she was Aija, he had no doubt about that, but why had she never said? She must really hate him he decided. She must have been really scared of him and regretted that night. Russia's eyes darkened.

"It was dark and I didn't see your face. I honestly didn't realise it was you, _the _Russia. It was a few years after the War when you captured me, Sir. And besides I thought you spent all the War in meetings." As soon as Latvia said the last sentence she regretted it.

"Meetings! Meetings! I got a Gold Star medal! Do you think I got that for attending meetings? For eating England's scones maybe... actually I did get an Order of Lenin for that but that's not the point. I got my medals for fighting. I was at the battles of Stalingrad, Moscow, Smolensk, Kiev and Baltic...and you think I got my medals for sitting on my arse listening to America's stupid voice?" Russia's voice got louder and louder.

Latvia decided this was a good time to make her getaway, she headed for the balcony and jumped and rolled as she hit the ground –as any good soldier should.

Russia stopped shouting as soon as he realised she'd run – yet again. Bloody hell, he thought, bloody woman just won't stand still. And he'd still not kissed her or held her in his arms. 'Epic fail as Poland would say', he thought. He sighed and jumped over the balcony to look for her again.

As he hit the ground a thought occurred to him. He realised he was acting like Belarus. You can't force someone to be with you, can you? Katya kept telling him that. Friends are not pets. Russia stopped dead. He didn't want to let her go now, but on the other hand, he would hate it if she thought of him in the same way he thought of Belarus. _That _thought made him shudder. He loved his little sister very much and would do anything for her... but that. But the problem was that much as he loved her, after being chased, stalked and threatened with marriage over so many years, he could no longer bear to be in the same room as her, almost to look at her without fear. And that was something he never ever wanted Latvia to feel about him.

Russia sat down on a nearby bench and pulled a vodka bottle out of his long winter coat (his coat pockets held many things - but unfortunately not a lead pipe, although there was a knife in there, some chocolate, a sunflower (now dead) and a (long expired) packet of condoms).

Taking a swig of vodka he ruminated. She obviously did not feel the same way about him. She obviously regretted that they'd ever had sex and was freaked out about it. If he continued to pursue her she would just become more and more scared and resentful of him. Just as he was with Belarus. He couldn't bear that - if his 'little sunflower' was afraid to be in the same room as him. He shuddered and for once in his long life thought about the consequences of his actions on others. And, much as it went against his whole psyche and character to dominate and conquer, he knew he would just have to let her go.

So, with these thoughts, he drank his vodka, ate some chocolate, threw the packet of condoms (expiry date circa 1971) into the bushes and decided to be all self-sacrificing and heroic, even though he didn't feel very heroic.

**Author's note: Readers - you may or may not agree with my head canon on how the nations are born. But this is mine: nationxhuman = city/province/state and sometimes a nation when there's a 'gap', i.e. the mother/father nation dies or sometimes the kid is just a half-nation half-human and personification of themselves like you or me (in other words you could be sat next to a semi-nation at school/college/work). Nationxnation = nation or at the very least an island or region. **

**Sorry, guys I don't believe that the nations are born from 'nothing or the land' and they have to have kids with humans – there just aren't enough nations to go around (plus they all seem to hate each other most of the time) – they must have had sex at some time, I simply refuse to believe that these Nations who are all centuries old are virgins and sex=babies, particularly many years ago when there was no or little contraception. Anyway, your mileage may vary. Bear with me.**

**Also my head-canon – Britannia is the personification of Ancient Britain/England and Marianne is the personification (probably Francis' mum) of old Gaul or Francia. Mother Russia, Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt – all mentioned in official canon I think? Or am I getting fandom mixed up with canon (which I sometimes do)?**

**Also yes I know this liquid wouldn't work – biology 101 tells us that it's the man's sperm that determines the sex of the baby –but this is magic and a plot device just to juice up the story a bit more.**

**Gold Star Medal – refers to what they called a "Hero of the Soviet Union" and a medal given out as an award for extreme bravery. I think it looks like the medal seen on Russia's coat in the manga/anime.**

**Also I'm departing from the canon/manga/anime here with Latvia not living in Russia's house til after the War.**

**Bit of angsty Russia I know (couldn't you just hug him?). Next chapter – a hair emergency, a visit to the hospital, AusxHun funniness, a duel, Ukraine's relationship therapy. To be continued... maybe...**


	21. 21st Century Breakdown

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Special thank you for all those who have PM'd me – your messages and comments mean a lot.**

**Warnings: a hair emergency, Ukraine's Relationship Therapy, England's swearing, quite a bit of angst, some cross-dressing.**

Chapter 21 – 21st Century Breakdown

"What happened to you?" These words were spoken by Finland to Denmark as the King of Northern Europe was dashing in and out of the Nordics' rooms at high speed. His jaunty little hat gone, even his beer was forgotten.

"You have to help me," Matthias shouted in the Finn's face.

"Your hair..."

"Don't say it, Tino."

"Your hair is... is... Oh my God, what happened?" Tino was lost for words.

"Russia punched me in the stomach and my hair gel's been stolen. The shock..." Denmark was in a state of high panic – rummaging through drawers and throwing the contents around the room desperately looking for his hair products. Finland had not seen him like this since The Great Northern War.

Denmark caught a glance of himself in the mirror, "Aaaaaargh!" The scream could be heard for miles. His hair was flat. As a pancake. Clearly, he thought, the shock of being beaten up by someone as un-awesome and un-cool as Russia had affected his own awesomeness.

Finland laughed, this, he thought, was just desserts for ruining Santa's reputation, "You look like Berwald," he said. In Denmark's view this was the ultimate insult.

Denmark's bruised stomach was forgotten, his beer was forgotten, as he looked at the true reality of what un-awesome hair looked like. "Noooooo." His hair, for the first time in centuries was not 100% awesome and had finally given in to gravity. It lay against his skull in a boring, flat, humdrum way. He looked... ordinary.

"Netherlands will never let me live this down!" He whined plaintively.

This called for desperate measures and he quickly did a hand-stand against the wall, his long legs braced against the aging plaster, his head pointing down and hoped against all hope that eventually his hair would regain the vertical.

Finland shook his head and walked out.

* * *

><p>England, the once great British Empire, was drinking tea and listening to Tinkerbell who was telling him exactly what had happened during that 'night of love' with Belarus. In fact, it had been less a night of love, and more a night of passing out without even getting his pants off. He'd suspected as much. Belarus had carried him up the stairs and undressed him and then, as Tinkerbell related (England was more than a little disturbed that 'Tinks' had stayed around – bloody little pervert he thought) Belarus had cuddled him all night. 'So what the bloody hell was going on,' he thought. 'Why did she let him believe that they'd spent the night together? Not just spent the night together... but <em>spent <em>the night together'.

After the meeting had explosively finished – in the usual way – with America running from Russia's wrath, Germany shouting and someone sensible (it was usually himself but this time it was Ukraine) breaking them up, he'd took himself out of the way to have a quiet cup of tea. He finally caught up with Belarus – she was practising her knife throwing skills in the garden against an unfortunate tree. He watched her for a bit, deeply impressed. She was beautiful, he had to admit, but she was deadly – like a lovely rose with thorns, or a cat with claws, or that chocolate cake he'd baked once that had poisoned his neighbour.

"Right I want to know what the bloody hell is going on?" England got straight to the point.

Unfortunately, so did Belarus as the pointy end of her knife was suddenly disturbingly close to his throat.

Belarus sighed, she didn't know what the bloody hell was going on either. To say she was confused in her head was an understatement. Attachment issues, her psychotherapist said.

"We are not together, okay? We never were..." She told England.

"Well, I gathered that, Tinks said..."

"Tinks? Who is this Tinks?" Belarus gripped her knife, was he seeing someone else behind her back?

"Tinkerbell. She said that..."

"She's a bitch," Belarus had no idea why she was suddenly jealous of an invisible fairy.

England muttered "Okay, Tinks, I know, I'm sure she didn't mean that..."

"Stop talking to her... that thing... it. Okay, one day we danced and I beat up France for you but I don't love you Arthur. I pretended to be in love with you to try and make big brother jealous."

"Right then, just bugger off then. See if I care. And you're not getting your hands on that potion. Or my scones."

"Oooh, I'm really worried," Belarus retorted sarcastically.

"Fine. You're a complete cow anyway. I mean you're such a cold bitch. It was like holding an ice-berg. Your dear brother's welcome to you. Ha! Good luck, Ivan, he's going to bloody well need it. I'm the great British Empire and I don't need love!" England stormed off. However, he regretted calling her a bitch, that was not befitting a gentleman, and she wasn't an ice-berg... she wasn't cold, in fact she was quite warm when you got her to laugh.

England half-wished, although he would never in a millennia admit it, that France – his centuries-old sparring partner – had not been incapacitated (although England had laughed so hard when someone had told him that he'd vomited). 'At least he loves me,' England thought, 'actually France loves everyone'. England went off to find out if Austria owned any hard liquor –not this fancy wine or 'crappy' German beer. He needed his rum.

Belarus was stung by England's words and wished she could have taken her own back. Arthur had got under her defences in a way no-one ever had. She knew she was a cold, heartless bitch – that was precisely the image she wanted to portray. She reasoned then that no-one would dare hurt her. But deep down she was a scared, lonely girl who just wanted to be loved.

As kids it was always Ivan who had reassured her, cuddled her when she was scared of thunderstorms or sang lullabies to her when she'd had bad dreams. And when the invading Mongol hordes had come he'd protected her. All her life her country had been invaded again and again. For some time she'd been under Polish-Lithuanian control and then German control. She swore she would never again let her country be beholden to any man. The only man she felt she could depend upon was her dear brother. But he was not always around. And she never gave any other man a chance; she rejected them before they rejected her.

Belarus was torn, before she'd heard Latvia was a girl (thanks to Poland's big mouth - that 'Latty' had slept with her brother) she'd been about to finally let Ivan go and try and make a start with England – after all he made her laugh, he wasn't scared of her, didn't try to run away from her and he genuinely seemed to like her. But now...

* * *

><p>'Ukraine's Relationship Therapy Sessions – queue here'. This was the notice pinned up on the door to Austria's study.<p>

Inside, one such 'session' was in full swing. Ukraine sat at Austria's desk with a tray of biscuits and a pot of tea. She offered a cup to each of her 'patients' – it being replenished frequently by a sniggering Poland – dressed bizarrely in a maid's outfit.

"I'm fed up of it. Everyone assumes we're in a relationship and we are most definitely not. Just because I was in a union with him for four bloody centuries. Can you believe it? Four hundred years I had to live with him! I can't let him out of my sight because otherwise he gets into trouble. Like the other day when he dressed as Santa and flashed at all those children. And before that he stole a sit-on lawnmower and rode it through my embassy in Copenhagen. And that's when he was almost sober. He's even worse when he's drunk. Actually it's impossible to get him drunk. He's not normal. I have no idea what he did with France last night and I don't want to know. Tino and Berwald were supposed to have custody of him for six months and I have him for the other six months but they won't have him for a while now because it's Christmas. Icy won't have anything to do with him..." Norway ranted on and on, occasionally sipping his tea, all the while lying on a couch.

"Hmm, you need to tell him," Ukraine said.

"I've tried. He's as thick as a plank. I can't even have a relationship with anyone, not a proper one. He tells everyone I'm married to him. He just ruins everything." Norway sniffed emotionally.

"A relationship? Who with?" Ukraine, the oldest female Nation and the one the other Nations most trusted and thought 'harmless' was everyone's agony aunt. So she set up her 'relationship therapy sessions' at whatever conference they attended. She was a good listener for sure, but unfortunately most of what she heard was passed on to Poland – the Queen of Gossip.

Norway sighed, "He's arriving later. We've been seeing each other on and off for about a year but idiot Denmark keeps getting in the way." He broke off as he heard yells. "I'd better go," he said with a sigh, "God knows what he's doing."

"Go with your heart!" Ukraine shouted after him – usually her stock answer to any problem. This often being the reason why there were so many fights, inappropriate bed-hopping, yelling and confusion at these conferences.

* * *

><p>Norway found the source of the yells – 'his charge' (he frequently did feel like Denmark's carernurse) was shrieking.

"It didn't work!"

Norway laughed uproariously at the other's hair.

"Your hair looks like Russia's!" he said.

"You have to help me. I've been upside-down for half an hour. Actually I feel a bit funny now..."

Norway shook his head, thinking that nothing Denmark ever did was surprising any more.

"Who has hair gel?" Denmark really was frantic. His face was very red as the blood had rushed to it but the blood-flow had obviously by-passed his brain.

"Well... France has hair mousse I believe."

Denmark shuddered.

"...Germany uses Brylcreem."

Denmark almost sobbed, "I can't use Brylcreem. It's for old men!"

"You're hundreds of years old!"

"Yes, but my hair is ... was awesome. Ring 112!"

"Having flat hair is not a medical emergency!"

"It is! This is worse than the Second Northern War!"

Obviously, having bad hair was not as devastating as losing a large potion of your territory but Denmark was inconsolable. Norway gave up and took himself off with the promise that he would 'look for appropriate hair products'.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Latvia had paused in her running. She'd panicked. Her boss! Her 'mystery Ivan' was her boss! She didn't know what to think. On the one hand, she'd grown fond of Russia over the years she'd been in his house, but on the other hand she was also afraid of him. Granted, he'd never been physically violent to her but she'd seen what he was capable of when he lost his temper. Plus, what would her fellow Baltics say? Toris and Eduard were like brothers to her and although she didn't believe they hated Russia, they were also very wary of him and to some extent like her, scared of him. But she knew they'd be horrified if they found out she'd slept with him. If it wasn't for him they would be independent Nations, he was holding them captive wasn't he? It was his Government's fault. The Soviet Government oppressed her people. But, but... he'd been so sweet and then he'd shouted. She'd obviously angered him but she honestly hadn't recognised him. But now, it all seemed obvious, how could she not have known? 'I've blown it,' she thought, 'he thinks I hate him and I don't. And then there's Mr Austria who I thought I loved but now I'm not sure.'<p>

She found herself in the kitchen where a maid was making a pot of tea. The maid turned out to be Poland.

"Like, Latty-kins, what are you doing here? You okay? You look kind of, like, upset?" Poland put his arms around her and gave her a hug.

"Oh Feliks, I don't know what to do!" Latvia burst into tears on his shoulder. It felt rather weird, to say the least, being hugged by a man in a maid costume. A man in full make-up, wearing stockings, in a maid costume.

"Come on sweetie, tell your Uncle Pol all about it," Poland said.

"Well, I don't think I can. It's a bit delicate..." She hesitated, she wasn't sure if she should tell Poland, the Queen of Gossip that she'd once slept with Russia, not realising that 'Pol' and Ukraine had already put two and two together.

"Is it girly stuff?" Poland said, pulling away and batting his mascara-laden eyelashes at her.

Latvia sniffed and nodded, slightly annoyed that Poland looked so much better than her in make-up. His legs were also pretty good in those stockings she thought.

Poland nodded thoughtfully, "Come on, girlfriend, I'll take you up to Aunt Katya." And Poland swished ahead of her up to Austria's study.

* * *

><p>"Oh Katya, I don't know what to do. I've made such a mess of things," Latvia sobbed on the couch.<p>

"I'm sure you have..." Ukraine wasn't really listening, she was deep in thought. Who was Norway's mystery man?

"What? You think I've made a mess of things as well? I've upset Mr Russia and I bet he'll never speak to me and now all those idiots know I wrote those books..."

Poland had informed her that "it's totally cool, like, everyone's a fan of your's Latty-sweetie. Francis has bought one of your books and Spain has got one. And when I told them that you'd wrote them, they were, like, woooo. And I was, like, woooo."

"What?" Katya had drawn up a list of 'possibles' for Norway – she was wrong on all counts.

Latvia took a deep breath, "Mr Russia is the guy I was telling you about. The one in the War," Latvia said.

"Noooooooooo," Ukraine tried hard to look and sound surprised. 'About time', she thought. "But that's good surely. Does he know it was you?" She said aloud.

"Yes, he found my rifle and everything and... he called me Aija," she whispered the last bit.

Ukraine smiled, "Oh so you're the mysterious Aija!" she said pretending to be surprised. "He went on and on about this Aija."

"Really?" Latvia looked up hopefully. "He did?"

"God, yes. I don't think he ever got over her... you." Ukraine said wisely.

"Oooh. But he's my boss. I can't... we can't... And I think I pissed him off and he's really angry now. I mean it wouldn't be right. What would everyone say?" Latvia was struggling now to make sense of everything. So he had missed her, but surely they couldn't be together could they? He was her boss. No, she shouldn't think of him in _that _way.

Ukraine was watching the younger Nation. Although everyone thought of Ukraine as 'spacey' and an agony aunt, she was so much more. She was actually very clever – particularly where people were concerned and reverse psychology was her forte.

"Oh okay then. I suppose you're right." Ukraine said simply and shut her pad.

"What do you mean 'okay' and I'm 'right'?" Latvia wasn't sure she liked Ukraine's answer. She was hoping Ukraine would argue with her and persuade her otherwise.

"Well, obviously you've thought about this and if you don't think it will work then it obviously won't work. Perhaps you two shouldn't be together. Everyone says so." Ukraine answered.

"Who said that?" Latvia was indignant.

Ukraine grinned to herself and didn't answer the question. "Well, I mean what would you do if Ivan went away?"

"He's going away?" Latvia jumped up and started walking up and down the study, clutching a cushion to her stomach.

"Well if he goes and lives in Moscow it's a no-go isn't it if he leaves you lot in Leningrad? I mean you live in Leningrad because it's close to your countries. Or he might go and stay in Georgia. Or live with any of the Stans."

"Georgia? But they don't get on. Georgia doesn't like Mr Russia, she told me. Why is he going there?" Latvia ignored the 'if' in Ukraine's statement and took it as fact. She actually felt frantic and panicky now.

Russia often had to 'visit' some of the Soviet Republics to ensure they were staying in line. He usually ate and drank them out of house and home, intimidated them into submission and then came home - happy and usually quite drunk. Most of the Stans – Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan etc were terrified of his visits. Georgia spent most of her time on his visits to her country subduing him with vodka, refusing to be intimidated and usually sent him home with sunflowers and sunburn. (The wise Georgian Nation had learnt from Toris many years before how to handle the big Russian.)

"He can't just leave us!" Latvia exclaimed.

Actually when Russia went on these visits, the Baltics had some leisure time, relaxed and had a party (usually with the Nordics if they could arrange it –all without Russia's knowledge) so they usually looked forward to him going away. However, they always knew where he was and when he was coming back; the thought that he might actually go away and not come back made her feel quite sick and she felt an ache in her chest. It was, she realised, always comforting to actually have Russia in the house. But she couldn't put her finger on why.

"Well. So you do care about him?" Ukraine was now getting to the nitty-gritty as 'Pol' would say.

"I don't know. No of course not, he's just my boss. And obviously I don't want anything bad to happen to him. Obviously I don't want him to die or anything." Latvia said this with more confidence.

"Okay. What would you do if you never saw him again?" Ukraine got all dramatic and pushed the Latvian to the edge. "What would you do if he went off to war and..." here Ukraine gave a deep breath, she'd obviously watched/read way too many slushy romances, "... he never came back?"

Latvia burst into renewed sobs dramatically, "I never got a chance to tell him..."

"Exactly," Ukraine said with a smile. She pointed Latvia to the door.

"Next!" she said to the person stood outside – England, swaying with a bottle of rum clutched to his chest. The Englishman looked at the sobbing Latvian, "You too, eh love?" he slurred.

**Author's Notes:**

**The Great Northern War was a war between an anti-Swedish Alliance comprising Russia/Denmark-Norway/Lithuania-Poland against Swedish expansion.**

**Belarus was under Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth control after 1410 for some couple of hundred years. And under German occupation in 1918 and again during the 2nd World War.**

**The four hundred years Norway is referring to is the Kalmar Union from 1397 to 1523 and then again until 1814 – so probably nearly five hundred years – poor soul.**

**Brylcreem is a hair gel – but often used by middle-aged men (not sure if Germany uses it, but my Dad used to – when he had hair)**

**112 – the emergency telephone number in most European countries (in the UK its 999).**

**Second Northern War 1655-1660 – Denmark is referring to a war that he and Norway waged against Sweden with various allies and ended with him losing quite a bit of territory. Not a good time for him.**

**The 'Stans' refer to Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan which were all Soviet Socialist Republics and part of the Soviet Union – as was Russia. Georgia was also a Soviet Socialist Republic and I've taken liberties and portrayed her as a female – I don't know why – I just thought I'd have another female kick-ass who wasn't scared of Russia (I also read a fanfic with a female Georgia who was not intimidated by Russia) – there should be more female nations.**

**Next Chapter: AusxHun, a duel (yes it was supposed to be this chapter, but again I keep over-running), fluffiness galore, oh and if I have time we'll bob over and visit the Bad Touch Trio in hospital with some grapes.**


	22. SOS

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**And yes Happy Birthday to Latvia – her Independence Day was on 18th November (I should have remembered that! - she's a Scorpio like me!) – I'm sure Russia will have bought her a bouquet of sunflowers.**

**Warnings: England swearing, a duel, AusxHun, fluff and crack**

**Chapter 22 – S.O.S.**

"Recycling, green issues, blah blah blah..." This was not all Germany's speech but it was all that the 'delegates' could hear. And a sorry crowd it was.

Italy was sat next to Germany, his eyes barely open (Italy's not Germany's) scribbling away.

"Good," Germany thought, "At least Feliciano is making notes."

Actually Germany was deluding himself. Italy was not making notes. He was writing over and over 'Feliciano Beilschmidt, Mr Feliciano Beilschmidt' surrounded by hearts and flowers. He had also drawn a very bizarre line drawing of himself and Germany holding hands and looking rather hippy-ish (Germany – most un-Germany-like - had flowers in his short brylcreemed hair).

Lithuania was sat half-way down the table drinking coffee (he refused to drink the tea – he suspected Poland had put something in it – hypnotic drugs anyone?) and rubbing his temples – his migraine had gone but was threatening to make a comeback.

Finland and Sweden sat further down whispering:

"Flat, totally flat."

"G'd."

"He was upset."

"Serves 'im right."

Canada sat opposite them feeding his pet polar bear cub biscuits.

While Russia sat two seats away with Darth Vader between them. Darth Vader's voice control had somehow been activated and 'he' 'told' Russia "Luke, I am your father."

Russia glared at him, "Nyet you are not, you look nothing like General Winter," he said, hugging his vodka bottle to his chest.

"May the force be with you!" Darth Vader said.

Russia replied to this by hitting Darth Vader and punching a hole through the cardboard cut-out's 'face'.

Greece, the only other 'delegate' snored softly.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Norway fell in.

"He's gone!"

Sweden and Finland looked up from their whispering, "Den?"

"Of course, who else?"

"Are you coming in to this meeting – where you should be anyway?" Germany yelled at the Nordic.

Norway hesitated, sat down with Sweden and Finland and ignored the German. "He's took himself to hospital. I'm fed up of him. I don't have a life. I'm not going after him this time."

Sweden and Finland both sighed and got up to sort out their Nordic 'brother's' dilemma.

"Where are you going? You can't just walk out on me?" Germany shouted.

But that's precisely what they did.

Russia took another swig of his vodka, put his feet on the table and glared at Germany.

Germany's left eyebrow twitched and he started again... to be stopped as the door was thrown open again – by a maid.

Poland sashayed in with a pot of coffee, a pot of tea and a tray of 'value' cream cheese sandwiches.

Russia, who was used to consuming at least 100 times the calories, picked up a limp sandwich and growled. He seriously considered taking one of Austria's horses, his gun and going out hunting for his dinner.

Italy also whined, "No pasta! Oh no! But I have some in my suitcase. Ve. I will make some!"

Russia approved of this.

Germany did not, "After the meeting you can make some pasta. Everyone will sit down and shut up!" he shouted, by now rubbing his temples and shuffling his papers with much agitation.

Lithuania looked at Poland with horror, "Why are you dressed like that, Pol?" he asked and then wished he hadn't.

"Looking good, eh?" Poland proceeded to twirl around.

"I like it!" Italy said.

"Have you finished? Either get out or stay and stop these interruptions," Germany said desperately.

Poland stuck out his tongue at the German, "You're just jealous Luddy, cos you can't pull this off," and he made a lewd motion down his imaginary curves.

'Luddy' took a step towards the Pole to eject him from the room when the door was flung open yet again.

"Mein Gott! Whoever that is will get a piece of my mind!" Germany said, but he trailed off when he realised it was Latvia. He remembered the last time he'd been about to admonish her and he didn't really relish the idea of being shoved into a glass receptacle – with or without his limbs.

Latvia hesitated – tears streaked her cheeks.

* * *

><p>To find out why Latvia is crying we have to go back in time a little – to just twenty minutes earlier.<p>

She'd been roaming the mansion looking for Russia – however, she wasn't sure what she was going to say to him when she did find him.

However, she happened to hear raised voices from the library (the scene of her previous escape from the Bad Touch and Awesome Trios) and she paused to listen:

"Listen to this, Elizaveta!" Austria yelled, appalled, waving a copy of "Forbidden Desire".

"_He held her in his strong arms, whispering in her ear, 'I have a present for you, it might cheer you up.' She looked up at him through her sky-blue orbs, currently filled with tears. 'I wrote a symphony, just for you.'_

_'That's so sweet of you, Alexander!' Fiona smiled. Alexander always knew how to cheer her up. Alexander smiled back and walked over to his piano, finally sitting down and beginning to play. It was so beautiful that Fiona started to cry again, and the image of her lover – a tall, dark-haired man with violet eyes, who was too beautiful even for heaven, and yet too pure for hell – went blurry._

"Can you believe this shit is based on me? I mean, really? I've read this entire book, and apart from his appearance, this one-dimensional pseudo-aristocratic dickhead is nothing _like _me! If she was going to base her hero on _me, _she could have at least bothered to get to know me first! I mean, for a start, if I had a girlfriend and she came crying to _me _about some guy saying we made a crap couple and blah-blah-blah-whatever-other-stuff-that-guy-said-I-skim-read-it-because-it-was-unrealistic-tripe, I'd go yell at him, not play the sodding piano! I think I need a sit down…"

"I think you do." Hungary said. Frankly, Hungary thought it was hilarious. Poor girl, why on earth make Austria a romantic hero. Clueless that's what he was she thought. And too beautiful for heaven! Haha, thought Hungary, you've not seen him in the morning – he looks like something the cat dragged in and spat back out.

Unfortunately, Latvia was outside and recognised the words from her novel and Austria's voice and was devastated. At first she thought, "What a prig! He should be honoured I made him a hero in my novels." And then she thought, "I thought he was such a gentleman!"

"Revenge," she thought, "Oh you will pay, Mr smarty-pants-doesn't-know-a-good-thing-if-it-hit-him-on-the-head." And she ran – to tell the 'big bad wolf'.

* * *

><p>And that's how she finished up throwing herself into the meeting room.<p>

"Aw poor girl!" Canada said, "Who made you cry?"

Lithuania took hold of her before she got to Russia, "What's wrong, Raivis?"

"Mr Austria said... my books are shit!" And she flung herself into Toris' arms with renewed sobs – mainly sobbing through anger truth be told.

Russia jumped to his feet. She may not be 'his little sunflower' but he wasn't going to sit about while some jumped-up Austrian with delusions of grandeur made his little Baltic cry.

He gently patted her on the head, "I will sort him out, Aija. Wait, wut? Your novels?" He was confused.

"Yeah, like, Latvia's Lucinda Lovelace!" Poland informed him with glee.

Russia made the connection and was even more angry, "I am going to hit him very hard." So she was the writer of those books and she'd made Austria the bloody hero. Russia decided he was going to wipe Austria from history.

Lithuania rolled his eyes and then said, "Aija? What?"

Latvia turned and gazed up at him, "Oh thank you, Mr Russia," she breathed.

"Oh this is too much!" Lithuania said.

Russia paused for a minute, having totally forgotten what he'd been about to do – much to everyone's amazement. Usually if he was going to beat someone up he did it with the single-minded intensity of a runaway train – oh well, you get the idea. Then he shook himself from his reverie of gazing into Latvia's eyes. In lieu of his metal pipe (which was still wrapped around a Prussian's neck), he broke a leg off the table (causing it to collapse) and stormed off.

Latvia sighed, "My hero," she said, gazing after him.

Lithuania took charge, "You've caused enough trouble, young lady. Take yourself off to your room and stay there!"

"Liet!" Poland exclaimed, "It's been too much fun!"

"You've already been the cause of three hospitalisations ... and counting. Stop running to the boss every time someone looks at you the wrong way." It wasn't very often Toris spoke to her harshly, in fact he was the gentlest and kindest person she'd ever met but clearly he was at the end of his tether (so far at the end that he couldn't see the other side).

Latvia, like a scolded teenager having been told off by a parent, huffed, puffed and practically threw herself out of the room and slammed the door. She opened the door and slammed it three more times for special effect and ran up the stairs to her room.

"Typical teenager!" Lithuania said, his migraine was coming back and he quickly took a handful of painkillers.

* * *

><p>Russia stormed into the library with a table leg as a weapon – he would have preferred his metal pipe, but really he didn't think he would need anything. This was Austria after all, what was he going to do? Play the violin at him?<p>

He grabbed Austria without any preliminaries and slammed him against the nearest wall, "No-one makes my little Latvia cry!" he snarled in Austria's face.

"What? I don't understand!"

"You said her novels were shit!" Russia shouted.

"I meant they are sh... Shakespeare-like!" Austria thought he'd made a reasonable come-back.

"Wut?" Russia was confused, ignoring the Hungarian striking him rather hard in the back with her frying pan.

"I mean they're good!"

Hungary continued to hit Russia with her frying pan, "Let go of my Roddy!" she yelled.

Russia turned and grabbed the kitchen accessory from her, punched a hole in the pan, snapped the handle off and returned it.

"My favourite pan!" She shrieked.

Austria was angry now, "No-one upsets my Lizzy!" he said and snatched a sword which had been hung above the fireplace as a decorative feature and prepared to fight Russia. He may 'hit like a girl' – Austria not Russia, but he could duel.

Russia with his table leg versus a sword-wielding Austrian.

They whirled and parried a few times, steel versus wood. Hungary ran out of the room to get another kitchen implement with which to hit Russia.

Several times Austria came close to stabbing the Russian, but Ivan, with his longer reach blocked him.

Then Russia was fatefully distracted as Romano burst into the room, "I've fixed your car, Piano Bastard!" he yelled at Austria. He saw the 'vodka bastard' and the 'piano bastard' duelling and beat a hasty retreat. (In fact, as a side note, Romano's idea of 'fixing' the steering wheel had included the use of cellotape.)

The distraction was enough for Austria, a consummate duelling champion who looked for the slightest weaknesses in his opponent and exploited them – he lunged forward and sliced at Russia's left arm.

"Ha!" Austria yelled triumphantly.

Normally, most people would be too hurt to continue – blood was flowing freely from the wound and the cut was quite a big, deep one. But Russia was not in any way shape or form 'normal' even by Nation standards. His rage just intensified. The purple aura surrounding him shimmered and he looked as if he'd just stepped out of the bowels of hell or through the gates of hell or that Satan had just dropped him off and said "See ya later, Ivan? I'll pick you up in a few hours?"

Austria's "Ha" turned into a scream as Russia snapped the Austrian's sword in two and then picked him up and slammed him into the opposite wall as if he was a rag doll.

Furniture was tossed aside, Austria's prize paintings were ripped from walls and it looked rather as if a tornado had torn through the room.

Austria, thankfully, looked unconscious. His lifeless body slumped in the corner like a discarded doll, his glasses smashed. If he'd have shown any movement, Russia would have crushed him – such was his rage. Russia gazed down at him, blood dripping steadily down his arm and was about to haul him to his feet and ... who knew? Hit him again? Throw him at the other wall? Bounce him between the walls like a large beach-ball? Try to repair him? However, Hungary stormed in, "Roddy!"

"Oh-oh," Russia stepped back. Hungary was not a person he liked to mess with – along with China (four thousand years of martial arts training). Hungary fought like Belarus – like a little wildcat. "I think I broke him," Russia said lamely.

There was a great deal of blood on Austria, however, most of it did not belong to the pianist.

Hungary knelt down next to 'Roddy' calling his name softly and cradling his head, "He's not breathing," she said and began giving him the kiss of life – rather more fervently than was required Russia thought.

Russia tried to duck (and failed) as Hungary paused and threw a hardback copy of 'War and Peace' at his head – with unerring accuracy. "Call an ambulance you stupid, fat oaf!" she yelled at the bleeding Russian.

"I don't feel too bad though," Russia answered.

"Not for you, you idiot!"

Russia ambled out – he was sure he'd seen Austria move his eyes briefly.

Austria was actually now regaining consciousness but in a lot of pain. He suspected his left arm was broken and there was a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head. His glasses were also broken. However, he groaned, not just from the pain but as Hungary put her lips to his and gave him the kiss of life. He could get used to this. Austria wasn't the best of warriors, he didn't really like fighting, he could best most people with a sword though but he was tougher than his wiry frame appeared.

He relaxed back against the carpet as Hungary stroked his cheek and waited for the ambulance. 'Good, this gets me out of hosting the rest of this bloody conference,' he thought, sneaking a look through his lashes at his ex-wife who was struggling to hold back sobs.

* * *

><p>"I bloody love your bloody sister, I bloody do. But she doesn't bloody well love me." England slurred clutching his rum. He was sat on Ukraine's therapy couch, his tie undone, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth (he only smoked when upset or drunk), his hair stuck up on end. He kept waving a wand around making Ukraine's notepad and pen float around – much to Ukraine's delight.<p>

The door opened – it was Estonia. He pointed at Ukraine – waved some airline tickets at her – mimed a plane – by holding his arms out at right-angles and swooping and then pointed back at her and then held up two fingers.

"Two minutes?" Ukraine asked.

"Two hours." Estonia answered and went out.

"Well, she's a fool, I mean who couldn't love you?" Ukraine said to England (he'd not noticed the interruption).

"Precisely. I'm a bloody catch I am and I could bloody well look after her and I'll even bloody fight that bloody big bastard for her."

"Ivan?" Ukraine said, almost falling off her chair.

"No, bloody hell. I mean bloody Germany. If he bloody invades her again I'll kick his bloody arse all the way back to bloody Berlin, bloody hell!" Obviously England was so drunk he had reverted to Second World War talk – it could have been worse, he could have reverted to pirate mode – which would have constituted invading Spain on a big ship – take that as you will.

Outside the room, Belarus was listening intently. She raised her eyebrows and turned to thin air and said, "Thanks, Tinks, I owe you one. I just need to find big brother."

* * *

><p>Vienna General Hospital<p>

"Poor leetle Francis, he is broken. I will never lurve again!" France was sat in a hospital bed. The great French derriere was placed – very gingerly – on a scrotum cosy – a padded cushion that had been placed in a strategic position to alleviate his discomfort.

Prussia, in the next bed laughed hysterically, "Kesese, ooooh!" but the laugh turned into a yowl as his neck – now thankfully free of the metal pipe – made him wince in pain. He had a totally un-awesome neck-brace on and apparently the doctors had told him he was lucky to have escaped a broken neck. "I'm just too totally awesome and cool to have a broken neck." He'd told them.

Spain, however, had got off lightly – with just a black eye. He was now to be found gazing through the windows of the maternity unit crying plaintively, "I want to have babies with Roddy!" he told anyone who passed. Reading those romantic novels featuring his ex-husband/wife had made him realise how romantic Austria could be and how much he missed him.

However, just arriving in admissions were two more Nations – one groaning dramatically on a stretcher with a Hungarian woman stuck to him. The other no less dramatically – Denmark threw himself across the admissions nurse's desk, "You have to help me!"

"What's wrong?" she said.

"My hair is flat!" he said.

Two security men were called and he was unceremoniously dumped outside.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile back at the mansion, as Austria was incapacitated, Adelaide took charge. Being probably the only sane person (apart from Lithuania of course and possibly Canada) she announced to the conference – now only comprising Germany, Italy, Lithuania, Canada and a sleeping Greece, that the 'dance tonight would go ahead as normal'.<p>

"Dance? We have to dance?" Germany did not like the idea of this.

Canada smiled at Adelaide, "I hope I can have the honour of asking you to come with me?" he asked her (his Englishness coming out).

Adelaide was thrilled, "I would be delighted!"

"You'll dance with me Luddy, ve?" Italy gazed up at Germany with half-closed eyes.

"Nein, I will not dance. I have other things to do. I have my paperwork to submit." Germany paused and glared at Lithuania who was lighting up a cigarette – he really felt he needed it. Toris was dreading this 'dance' it was bound to be a disaster and no doubt Pol would attend dressed in a frilly ball-gown.

"You can't possibly be serious about smoking? It's a disgusting habit! I forbid it in my presence!" Germany said in his most strident tone.

"Ve, he does," Italy said sadly.

Germany started lecturing the Lithuanian about statistics, lung cancer rates, mortality and then did the unthinkable and snatched the cigarette – Toris' last one - and crushed it between his fingers. "You'll thank me one day," the German said.

Lithuania stood up, really this was the last straw, the one that broke the camel's back. He'd been wanting a cigarette for over an hour and had had to sit and listen to that boring German without saying anything. He'd had enough of being 'nice', why did everyone assume he was a walk-over, did he have 'doormat' tattooed on his forehead? What would Ivan do? So Lithuania did just what Ivan would do and punched Germany in the face.

Germany fell like a ton of bricks and lay still. Finally, silence!

This is until Italy broke into frantic sobs, "Luddy, Luddy!" and fell onto his chest dramatically with wailing cries.

Lithuania poked the German man just to make sure there was no lasting damage (he wasn't a complete bad guy like Russia) and took himself out.

* * *

><p>In her room, Latvia was playing her music as loud as she possibly could from her cheap, tacky Russian-made stereo. She was sulking dramatically, but she'd seen the ambulance leave and was hoping that Mr Austria wasn't too badly hurt. However, her rock music was loud enough. Switzerland charged in from the next room. He'd been on the telephone all morning trying to trace Lily and Icy and vowing to teach the Icelandic a lesson when he caught him for eloping with his precious sister.<p>

"Turn that bloody music down!" he yelled, waving his rifle in the air.

Latvia was fed up of being shouted at by random male Nations and was determined to show she could stand up for herself. So she grabbed the Swissman's rifle, went to the balcony and threw it out.

Switzerland, for once, speechless, glared at her and then jumped after his precious rifle. However, unlike the previous jumpers – Lily, Latvia and Russia – perhaps because he was in a panic about losing his favourite weapon, he fell wrongly and let out a howl of pain.

"Oh no," Latvia thought, "Not another one." She went to call for yet _another _ambulance.

**Author's Notes: Spain's marriage refers to during the 16th century when Margaret of Austria was also the Queen Consort of Spain by her marriage to King Philiip II. Many of the subsequent Spanish monarchs were married to Austrians – bringing the Spanish crown under an alliance with the Austrian Habsburgs.**

**Next chapter: America gets some advice, Dr Matthias, the Russia/Latvia/Belarus/England love triangle. Also some proper RussLat fluff (if I don't run out of space). The chapter _after _that one will be a full chapter of Russ-Lat goodness with a side helping of Pol-Liet - but at the moment it's in my head.**


	23. Help!

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: MightySwordPen, Widdiful Echidna, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Thank you for all your encouragement!**

**Warnings: Fluffiness, bit of angst, America, Prussia's stupidity, 'Dr Den', some blood. Please note that no characters were harmed in the production of this story.**

Chapter 23 – Help!

Whilst ambulances were being called and chaos (in the form of Russia) was rampaging around, America was sat in the bathroom he and England shared with the two halves of his light-sabre on his knee. He ignored the noise downstairs – heroes didn't go to hospitals, you wouldn't find Batman or Superman going to hospital. However, he didn't feel very heroic at the moment. For a rare few minutes he actually felt un-awesome and ordinary.

"What's the matter, young master?" a voice asked him.

"Yo, Arty, not cool. Oh, you're not Arty."

"Indeed I am not."

"You're that old dude, Gerald, that Arty told me about."

"Why are you in here when all your friends are downstairs?"

"They're not my friends. Look what that fat commie dude did to my light-sabre!" Alfred held up the remains of light-sabre. "It won't change colour now. In fact it won't light up at all."

"Indeed." Gerald had walked into the 'fat commie dude' and attempted to introduce himself but the aura coming from him had scared him so much that he'd almost apparated back to the seventeenth century. "I'm sure they all think a lot about you."

"Ha! Arty hates me just cos I got independence and my bro is fed up of me. Dunno why. Germany's kind of boring. My best friend, Kiku, isn't here. The chicks dig me though." But Alfred said this last sentence with much less feeling.

Gerald understood none of this but was actually glad to have someone to talk to. First the English gentleman and now an American. After spending nearly 500 years in the company of 'Count Roderich von Edelstein von Habsburg', the poor ghost felt as he'd been in a state of hell. Young Feliciano sometimes spoke to him when he'd lived there as a young boy but the young Italian had been scared of him. Miss Elizaveta was far too rough, in Gerald's opinion, to ever be considered a lady and besides she used to just laugh at his predicament.

"So, you're the butler here?" America asked.

"I am, Sir, yes."

"Adelaide's nice. Are you her boss?"

"I'm her great great great great great great grandfather."

"Cool, dude!" America then computed slowly, and fainted most un-heroically from the shock.

Gerald floated boringly down the stairs and found Adelaide. "A gentleman has fainted in room number two's bathroom."

"Oh Grandpa!" Adelaide left out all the 'greats', "What did you do?"

"I did not _do_ anything."

"Which one was it?" She certainly was not going in there if it was Russia she decided – her other concerns – France, Prussia and Spain were all in hospital. She also did not want to get entangled with Denmark.

"The American gentleman."

"Alfred's fainted?" Belgium, who was passing, smiled. "I'll deal with him. I'm a trained nurse." She'd spent the day avoiding doing any work whatsoever, drinking copious amounts of tea and gossiping with Poland and... well, that was about it.

She skipped up the stairs to England and America's room. She'd always had a bit of a 'hankering' for the young, fit American but Francis, Arthur and her big brother, Netherlands, had always got in the way. Also, her 'hankering' had grown stronger over the day. Perhaps it was all that tea? Funny that, she'd had to go to the loo twelve times.

* * *

><p>Vienna General Hospital<p>

The Nation personification of Denmark had sneaked in through the back door of the hospital. He was determined to find out if someone, anyone, could help him restore his awesomeness. However, he was soon distracted, he acquired a doctor's white coat, a stethoscope, a clipboard and actually found that without his usual mad hair people seemed to take him more seriously. Perhaps the fact that he had a label (actually Fed-Ex label on which he'd written Dr Mathias Køhler in very childish lettering) stuck to his chest helped. Who knew?

Certainly, 'Dr Kohler' was having the time of his life. He was handing out prescriptions willy-nilly – usually 100 ml of 'Carlsberg' to be taken 3 times a day. He handed several women 'coupons for Danish love' and diagnosed several patients – by nodding sagely and pressing his stethoscope against their chest – with 'mugwump' and 'gromplesburn'. He rode gurneys, pressed all the buttons on the lift and made the nurses (some of the male ones as well) swoon. He pulled one giggling nurse into a store cupboard to 'check her blood pressure'.

Unfortunately, this halcyon of hilarity (at least for Denmark) was fated not to last. The agents of his doom arrived in Reception.

"We're looking for a tall, blond, mad-looking Danish guy." Finland said to the receptionist.

Sweden butted in, "C'm to take 'im off yer hands."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean? Are you looking for the psychiatric ward?"

"Prob'ly." Sweden said.

The receptionist pointed to the lifts, "Floor 27."

On ward 13 – General Surgery (Male), Francis was still groaning, "Leetle Francis is broken, I tell you."

Prussia ignored him. He had acquired a bedside telephone and was putting it to good use. If he couldn't prank his fellow Nations in person he would do it by remote. Unfortunately, the person who picked up the phone in Austria's house was not the Nations he'd hoped (i.e. Russia, Germany, Austria or England – who all would have gone into apoplexies of rage). However, Italy did not.

"Si?" Italy said.

"Hello, is Kay there?"

"Kay, ve? Just a minute."

"No wait, is Kay Oss there?" Prussia sighed, he hadn't had chance to finish his 'joke'.

But Italy was already shouting, "Is there a Kay in the house?"

"No, signore."

Prussia sighed, "What about Ben... Ben Dover?"

Either Italy's English was rubbish or he was just thick, Prussia wasn't sure.

"No, signore, no Ben."

By now Austria would have been throwing himself around the room in a rage, Germany would have been shouting down the telephone and telling him to 'grow up', Russia would have smashed the phone against the nearest wall or head.

"What about..." Prussia giggled, "... Felix... Felix Cited."

"Si, signore. We have a Felix. I will get him for you." Italy tripped off to find Poland.

Prussia giggled at his own joke. Oh well, he would try and get a rise out of the Polish man.

"Is that Felix?" Prussia asked as he heard the receiver being lifted.

"Yo."

"Felix Cited?"

"Do I feel excited? Are you one of those heavy breathers? Ooooh. Well, actually I am excited. Do you want to know what I'm wearing? I'm wearing stockings and suspenders – silk ones actually. And lipstick and some lovely eyeshadow I got from the airport," Poland continued to prattle on about his garments and make-up.

Prussia slammed the phone down just as Austria was wheeled on to the ward.

"Kesese! What happened to Liberace?"

"Russia nearly killed him!" Hungary was clinging to his hand – the one on the end of the unbroken arm. "Hang in there my darling." She said to the wounded Austrian.

"I'll be okay Lizzy. I'm being brave...oh the pain... oh..." he groaned and then suddenly he sat upright, "I'm not sharing a ward with those two!"

"Honhonhon, we can have some fun, non? Three nubile young men?" France seemed to have forgotten that he was sat on a scrotum cosy, Prussia had a neck brace on and Austria was doing a dying swan routine. None of them could be described as 'nubile'.

"Well you can't have any 'fun', Francis. Isn't little Francis out of action?" Prussia snickered.

"You are so cruel!" Francis said dramatically and sank back on the bed.

"Nurse, nurse I demand my own private room. I'll... I'll... pay."

"Ha! Roddy must be ill. He's spending his money!" Prussia was really enjoying himself.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

Up in England and America's bathroom, Belgium was reassuring America he was still a hero. "You've always been a hero to me," she said.

"I have?" America said hopefully.

"You came to my rescue in both wars, so of course I do."

America suddenly jumped up, here was a woman who actually thought of him as an all-American hero and not just some 'useless Yank' as the other Nations called him. "Say, would you like to come with me to MacDonalds for a Big Mac?"

Belgium considered this, being part-French her gastronomic tastes were rather more refined than fast food burgers, however, she saw the gleam in the young American's eyes and thought 'what the hell'. "I would love to, Alfred," she said.

Alfred, once again the Hero of the Western World, grinned, "Woohoo, rock out! Let's go, chick. Let's call a cab. I wonder if they have happy meals? I could eat one of those with my Big Mac and a diet coke of course..."

Belgium just smiled. Well, she was fulfilling her part of the 'FUN take over the world plan'. Well, she would if perhaps she could get Alfred to stop talking.

"Just one thing..." she asked the American as they were about to step out.

"Yep?"

"Please, please take off that Jedi outfit."

"Hahahaha, okay chick. But when we get back I want you to put this on." And to her amazement/amusement he held up a 'Princess Leia' outfit – complete with wig and metallic gold bikini.

Belgium smiled at him like he was a little boy, "If you're good, I'll wear it... just stop saying..."

"Woohoo! Rock out!" America shouted.

"...that," she said lamely. A thought came into her head, if she hadn't turned up, then who was the outfit intended for originally?

* * *

><p>Downstairs, Russia stood in the Library watching Switzerland being loaded via a stretcher into a waiting ambulance. Now that definitely had nothing to do with him, he thought. The state of Austria's once prized library did though. Russia, in his rage-fuelled destruction mode had left the library looking as if someone had thrown a grenade inside and shut the door. Russia took another swig of his near-empty vodka bottle and plonked himself down on a nearby chair. He was actually feeling a bit dizzy now. He ignored the pain in his arm – which was bleeding quite freely – a dark wine coloured stain blooming on his winter coat, but he'd put a band-aid on the 'cut' and assumed that it would be okay. He'd suffered much worse.<p>

Then he heard a sound which made him jerk his head up, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up under his scarf.

"Brother, brother! Vanya! I need to talk to you!" in Russian – the voice coming nearer.

"Oh no," Russia was not really in a fit state to run. But he did. He opened the window – the same one that Latvia had been hauled through by the Bad Touch/Awesome Trios – and let himself shakily to the ground. He swayed a bit as black dots bounced before his eyes and then cleared. 'I shouldn't drink so much with Natalya around,' he thought – not realising that he was leaving a trail of blood.

Belarus arrived in the wreck of a library just in time to see Russia exiting. She frowned, "Oh, Ivan." She called softly, "It's okay, honestly."

He didn't believe her. She always sounded so innocent. He knew better. He heard her footfalls behind him and usually he could outrun her fairly easily but today it felt as if he was running through treacle and his legs felt very heavy, as if he was in one of his many nightmares and he couldn't get away. He stopped, breathing hard, swaying slightly and saw in front of him, Latvia.

Latvia had just seen Switzerland off in an ambulance – not without feeling quite a bit of guilt – and turned to walk back into the house when she saw Russia padding slowly towards her. The big Russian looked very pale, much paler than usual and he seemed out of breath.

"Are you okay, Sir?" She asked, and then she heard the voice she dreaded.

"Ivan! Brother! I need to talk to you! It's about you and Latvia!"

Russia pushed Latvia behind him protectively. Whatever happened he did not want Latvia hurt.

"Why did you run from me? Oh brother, you're so silly. I've seen the light!" Belarus' eyes did look wilder with a strange gleam in them and she was laughing maniacally.

"I'm never going to marry you, Natty," Russia said flatly. He kept a grip on Latvia behind him like a drowning man gripping a life preserver.

"I want to talk to you about my wedding!" Belarus insisted.

Latvia gasped as she realised Russia was bleeding and put two and two together and came to several thousand.

She stepped in front of him. It was her turn to protect him, she thought. "You hurt him." Latvia's voice had a hint of steel about it.

Behind her, Russia tried to step in front of her but swayed dangerously. The blood-loss had really started to affect him now and he started to feel very dizzy.

"I know, but I love him," Belarus said – thinking Latvia had heard about her and England. "I'm going to marry him. I'm just going to..." she took a step toward her brother.

Latvia, who assumed Belarus had stabbed Russia while pursuing him, reacted like a lioness defending her cub and punched Belarus. Spending so much time dressing like a 'man', Latvia had also learnt to hit like a man (and some women – Hungary, Vietnam?).

Belarus was knocked on her back. She'd never been hit by another Nation (no-one would ever dare) and the shock on her face was unimaginable.

"Touch him and Toris again..." Latvia said standing over Belarus, "... and I'll kill you."

"But..." Belarus was made of stern stuff and she jumped to her feet, "I didn't hurt him. I want to tell him I'm getting married."

"Get it through your thick skull. You. Are. Not. Marrying. Him." Latvia punctuated each of these words with a jab at Belarus' chest. "You are his sister. He doesn't want you."

"England! I'm going to marry Arthur!" Belarus said finally.

"Poor guy," Latvia muttered and then... "Oh!"

"But I have to tell him. I wanted to tell big brother that I'm letting him go."

Belarus stepped carefully around Latvia and put her arms around Russia. It was testament to how weak Russia felt that he didn't flinch or pull away and just allowed his little sister to embrace him.

"I love you, Vanya... and... argh! You're bleeding!" Belarus pulled away hurriedly, blood staining her arm.

"Da," Russia chirped, swaying, holding his arm up in fascination. He had absolutely no idea what had just happened. The blood had seeped through the thick padding of his winter coat and was dripping down his arm. "Band-aid did not work. And vodka gone." He said sadly.

Both women tried to hold him up but he was too heavy and he crashed to the ground.

Latvia cradled his head for a minute and tried to remember her basic first aid training. She took his wrist – his pulse felt very fast, weirdly fast – and lifted his arm and with her other hand wrapped it as far as she could around his bicep where the blood seemed to be coming from.

"Go get someone, Belarus. Get Liet."

Belarus hesitated, "Vanya! Oh no..."

"Go Bela, now!"

Belarus jumped up and ran towards the house shrieking at the top of her lungs.

Latvia was knelt down by Russia's side and held his left arm up with one hand. She'd taken her jacket off and wrapped it around his arm and pressed the clothing to the wound, praying that the bleeding would stop. Russia blinked slowly and smiled at her, "Privyet, little one."

Latvia tried to blink away her tears, but she managed to smile back at him, "It's okay, Mr Russia."

Russia reached up with his other hand and gently brushed away her tears with his fingertips, "It will be okay, Aija. Don't cry," and then he finally passed out. Whether from the vodka or blood-loss or a combination it was hard to tell.

**Author's Note:**

**Liberace was a famous American pianist who was very very camp.**

**I'm not sure how many 'greats' grandfather Gerald would be to Adelaide, I couldn't be bothered to count/type them all.**

**The wars that Belgium is referring to would be the two world wars – in 1917 America joined the Allies after being neutral at the outbreak of the first world war, whilst they joined the 2nd world war in 1941 after the attack on Pearl Harbour and went on to help liberate Western Europe. (Arthur would no doubt say that Alfred was late arriving for both wars!)**

**Next Chapter is dedicated to Russ-Lat with a side helping of Pol-Liet. Total fluffiness and sugary-ness galore - guaranteed. **


	24. Love Hurts

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz and not me (unfortunately).**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell and all my anonymous readers especially all of you who've been with me from the beginning.**

**Over 100 reviews! Thank you all so much. (I'm still thrilled when I get a review – it always makes my day!) Thank you for all your encouragement!**

**Warnings: Blood, fluff, crack, fair bit of angst (all in one chapter – phew) – all peppered with Polish humour.**

Chapter 24 – Love Hurts

Cramming a 6 foot 2 barely conscious Russian into a Citroen C2V was never a good idea – certainly not one of Toris' better ones. Austria's BMW was unusable - for some reason the steering wheel had come off in Lithuania's hand. The only other means of transport – besides a horse, was the little Citroen which Austria used as it was cheap on fuel. The frugal Austrian kept the BMW for show but rarely used it.

Toris had no idea what else to do. Russia flatly refused to go in an ambulance to hospital. And Toris understood why, he was liable to smash the place up. He'd spent so much time in various field hospitals during the War - once because he'd broke his back jumping out of an aeroplane and another time getting himself shot. It was easier to just drive him to see this Dr. Pumplenicklestein. The name was premonition enough. But Adelaide had said that this was the person Austria went to see whenever he got so much as a headache – the Austrian being a consummate hypochondriac. And the doctor was cheap. They had no health insurance with them. Clearly, Russia would need stitches, even though he kept insisting he felt 'fine'.

So finally, after much shoving and pushing and growling (from Ivan himself) they got him in the back of the small French car. Thank God it had four doors. Latvia got in next to him and held his wounded arm. This seemed to please Russia and he smiled happily and snuggled up to her, put his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder.

"We're going to visit a nice man," Toris told him, as if he was a kid as he got in the driving seat. "Bugger, I don't have my driving licence. If I get stopped by the Austrian police, we're screwed."

Sealand gave him Romano's driving licence – that he'd stolen earlier, "Use this, Mister Lithuania," he said.

Poland jumped in the passenger seat next to Lithuania, still in full maid's uniform ('just for the ride' he'd said) and various people, Gerald, England (hugging a hysterical Belarus), Sealand, Norway, Canada, Adelaide, Romano ('I could drive' – Lithuania ignored him) and Italy (Germany was still unconscious after Lithuania's punch) all waving them off as if they were going on a day trip. (Estonia and Ukraine were nowhere to be found and America and Belgium were also missing.)

"Bloody Estonia – he's never around when we need him." Lithuania lamented.

They found the address thanks to Adelaide's directions easy enough and, having eased Russia out of the little car (the suspension groaning in relief), they staggered up the steps of the building – Poland and Lithuania supporting the Russian between them. Russia managed to walk but he listed dangerously and looked ready to fall any minute. Latvia gently took his arm and led him with encouraging noises. Lithuania, who had been reluctant at first about bringing Latvia, was actually relieved at her presence. He doubted they'd have got him this far without her. Russia seemed to comply silently with her gentle encouragement, in fact Toris thought if the little Latvian told Russia to step off a cliff he probably would have done.

They rang the doorbell located under a sign which said – in heavy script 'Dr Viktor Pumplenicklestein, veterinary surgeon'.

"Is this a joke?" Toris asked Poland.

Poland shrugged, "Like, Liet, just get him in there and sorted. He's too heavy to be lumping about all over town." Poland said, as if Russia was a large parcel.

The door was answered by a tall thin man with very wild grey hair and large staring blue eyes - not helped by extremely thick glasses which magnified his eyes to a comical effect. The man also smelt of alcohol.

Toris hesitated, "Hmm, is the doctor in?"

"Ja, ja, I am the doctor! Come in, bring him in." The doctor's breath almost knocked them out.

Russia stumbled over the threshold and looked around. "Where are we?" he mumbled.

"Just visiting this very nice man, not to worry," Latvia said.

"Oh dear, oh dear. Been in the wars? Poor boy, bring him through." The Doctor said, he smiled kindly at Latvia.

"Lots and lots of wars," Russia chirruped.

"Ja, ja. Is he yours?" The doctor said to Latvia.

She hesitated, "What?" she was unsure about all this, but the man did seem kindly enough.

"He is your dog, nein?"

"Yes, he is," Poland answered for her.

The three Nations pushed Russia through the hallway after the Austrian and into what was obviously a surgery with an examining table, various surgical implements and a strong smell of disinfectant.

"Run over maybe? Chasing a cat?" Dr Pumplenicklestein asked.

"Well, no, actually..." Latvia was about to say he'd been in a duel. What on earth was going on? Was the man that drunk that he actually thought Russia was a dog?

Poland was shoving his knuckles in his mouth to stop from laughing. Lithuania glared at him.

"He's got a bad cut on his arm," Toris said.

"Ja, let's see..."

"Well, okay, front left leg," Toris amended.

Russia jumped as the man patted him on the head, "Okay, big boy, just jump on this table for me and I'll take a look."

Russia looked at Latvia for reassurance. "It's okay, Mr Russia... erm I mean Ivan, the doctor will stitch you up." Then she gently stroked his arm.

Russia settled himself on the table and sniffed, "I don't like it here, where's my vodka?"

Latvia gently patted his head, "We'll get you some vodka later," she said.

Russia grumbled a little and growled dangerously as the Doctor started to take off his scarf.

"Let's get your collar off eh? What breed is he?" The doctor asked.

Feliks was almost wetting himself, "R...R...R...Russian," he managed to say in between choking sounds.

"Ah, Siberian Husky?" the vet asked.

"Yes, but crossed with..." Poland tried to think of some weird breed he could later use for hilarity when recounting the story.

"Wolf?" the vet asked.

"More than likely," Lithuania said.

Russia clung to his scarf and looked at Latvia beseechingly. As he was sat on the examining table his head was just about level with hers. "It's okay, Ivan, just let him take it off and you need to take off your coat."

Russia grinned happily at her use of his human name.

Toris stepped forward and helped Latvia take off Russia's now blood-stained coat and the suit jacket underneath.

"That suit's new! Honestly, that's the last time we get him new clothes!" Poland exclaimed.

"Tut tut," the Doctor shook his head. "Very bad case of neglect, young lady." The Doctor had succeeded in taking off Russia's scarf revealing a white neck with angry scars just above his collarbone. "His choker chain was too tight?" He said to Latvia.

Indeed the scars did seem to bear an imprint of chains and were now an angry red. Russia growled and muttered something about 'Mongol Hordes'.

Latvia could feel her eyes filling with tears again, "It wasn't us..." and she gently stroked Russia's hair, her hand resting on his blond locks which seemed to quiet him. She'd seen his scars before but only fleetingly when he'd streaked into the kitchen just the other day. However, she'd largely covered her eyes and been too embarrassed to look. And now she was horrified by them but also felt very sorry for the Russian. She understood now why he never took off his scarf and was so self-conscious about his neck.

Toris said quietly, "His previous boss, I mean owners, did that."

"I should report this to Animal Welfare," the vet said.

Feliks, who had been giggling, stopped abruptly and started fiddling with his false nails.

Toris, with Latvia's help, peeled off the Russian's blood-soaked shirt. Latvia gave an audible gasp at the sight of the gash on his arm and gripped his hand.

Russia snarled, "Going to kill Austria," he mumbled, barely coherent.

Toris shook his head, "You're not going anywhere for a bit," he said to Russia.

The doctor sighed and shook his head and looked around at the three Nations, "Perhaps I give him a tranquiliser, ja?"

Russia struggled but was quietened almost instantly as Latvia stroked his cheek, "Ivan, don't worry I'll stay with you."

"You will?" He said in a quiet voice.

"Yes, I'm right here."

The doctor took a needle and injected Russia in his uninjured arm, "There, just to relax him a little."

"Can we, like, buy that?" Feliks asked, and was nudged by Toris.

Russia laid down groggily on his right side on the table, feeling more woozy than ever.

"Does he bite?" the doctor asked.

"Sometimes," Feliks said and was nudged again by Toris.

"Could you hold his head?" Pumplenicklestein asked Latvia.

She nodded and gently took his head in her hands, bent down so she was level with him and gazed into his eyes. Russia gazed back at her dreamily.

The Doctor gave another audible gasp when he saw the bruises on Russia's back where Hungary had bashed him with her frying pan (now going a nice shade of purple) and the dozen silvery ridged scars streaking down his broad muscular back from the base of his neck disappearing to the waistband of his trousers. Latvia had not noticed those during Russia's 'streak', although she had gotten a good view of his broad, hairy chest.

"I should report this. This is one of the worst cases of neglect I have ever seen," the vet said as he prodded Russia's other scar – on his left side – from a bullet in the War.

"Say, like, Liet, don't you have the same scars on your back?" Poland asked Lithuania.

Toris said nothing but his green eyes met Russia's purple eyes, and then, shakily he turned and gripped his Feliks' hand. Sometimes, some memories were too painful, too deep to talk about, some scars are not just physical.

Russia murmured something which sounded like 'Bloody Sunday' and his large hand found Latvia's.

"Stay with me, Aija," he whispered.

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," she whispered back and clutched his hand. She stole a glance at Toris who seemed to be having difficulty with some unnamed emotion. 'Bloody Sunday' was a topic that was never mentioned in Russia's house ever, by any of them.

"His past owners were bad people," Toris choked out.

"Hmm," the doctor started to clean and suture Russia's wound, "At least he seems well-fed."

"He never stops eating!" Poland exclaimed, "He gets in loads of fights with the other dogs as well." Poland had regained his humour – it was never that far away, but he still held Toris' hand and squeezed it. "He's just about house-trained and he'll play fetch all day."

The doctor hummed as he stitched, "He's a good guard dog then?"

'Aija' nodded, her eyes swimming with tears, "The best."

"He could do with more training. He won't walk to heel. And he tends to chew things. Oh and he has fleas." Poland just could not help adding the last sentence.

"Hmmm, but you all love him?" the doctor asked.

'Aija' nodded, stroking Russia's cheek – he was now unconscious – thankfully, otherwise the little Pole would have been knocked through the nearby window.

Toris hesitated, nodded his head and then nudged Feliks, who said, "Well, we could have much worse. There's this German dog we know. He barks all the time, messes everywhere and he certainly won't play fetch."

Toris shook his head, could Pol ever be serious? But then it was his sense of humour that had kept the Pole going through his long, bloody history.

"Liet, maybe I could chop a bit more off his hair while he's 'under'?" Feliks asked Toris, hopefully.

"No, Pol, leave him," Toris answered, his hand still clutching the Pole's.

The doctor looked up, "Well I think I'm about done. It's probably best to keep him here for tonight, ja? Just until the anaesthetic wears off?"

Latvia wasn't sure, however, Poland was very enthusiastic, "Sounds good to me, come on Liet. He's caused enough trouble. Besides we have a dance to go to. Hey, maybe no-one else will end up in hospital tonight?"

Toris paused, Raivis gazed at him, tears in her eyes. "We can't leave him on his own, Toris. He might wake up and be scared!"

Poland laughed hysterically, "Oh Latty sweetie. Nothing, but nothing, scares Russia."

"I'm staying with him. I promised." She said defiantly.

Toris sighed, "I suppose it makes sense. If he wakes up he might smash the place up. You know what he's like."

"Ja, I allow owners to stay with their pets. That is okay. I can get my grand-daughter to bring a camp bed down," Doctor Pumplenicklestein said kindly to Latvia. "There are no other dogs in tonight, so it should be nice and quiet."

It was now early evening and the sun had set, Russia was snoring fitfully, his legs twitching in his sleep.

"Poor boy is chasing rabbits! Haha, good boy!" The vet said, rubbing Russia's head.

They carefully put his shirt back on him – not without some difficulty, and Latvia gently wrapped his scarf around his neck. Then, between the vet, Lithuania, Poland and Latvia (who held his head) they staggered with the unconscious Russian into the next room and put him in a very large dog-run complete with a dog-blanket and a dog-cushion.

Latvia, without a word, crawled in next to him.

Doctor Pumplenicklestein did not seem to think this was unusual. He turned to Poland and Lithuania, "Just the matter of the bill?"

"Charge it to Roderich Edelstein," Poland said quickly before Lithuania could open his mouth.

"Ja, ja, I can do that."

"Well, thank you very much," Lithuania shook hands with the vet.

"Ja, but you must make sure he is looked after. No more fighting. Perhaps he should be neutered nein?"

Poland almost wet himself – again – and had to turn away, tears of mirth streaking his cheeks.

Toris swallowed, dear Lord, he thought, Russia would rip _his _balls off. "We'll pick them both up in the morning." (Presumably he meant Latvia and Russia, and not Russia's testicles.)

He turned to Latvia and peered through the opening of the dog-run where she'd snuggled up to Russia's prone form. She'd cuddled up to him, pulled his arms around her and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. The Russian buried his face in her hair and sighed, a dreamy look on his face. "We'll get you both tomorrow, okay, Raivis?" Toris asked, "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

She nodded and buried her head in Russia's chest, her arms around his waist.

"We will leave some food out for him, ja? And I will leave the back door open onto the garden if he needs to go wee-wee?" The vet said and he and the other two Nations walked out to the waiting Citroen (Poland clutching his sides, his face ached from laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks).

Inside the dog-run, Latvia/Aija/Raivis held Russia or possibly they held each other. Russia murmured her name in a dreamy voice, shuffled a bit and tightened his hold on her. Her fear of him hadn't totally evaporated, but at that moment she just didn't want to be anywhere else but there – in a dog-run in an Austrian veterinarian's surgery – with Russia/Ivan. Ivan was snoring like a train and she finally relaxed enough to sink into slumber, her head resting against his chest, exhausted from all the running.

**Author's Notes:**

**I know there's some angst in there, but have peppered this with Poland's humour. Have edited and re-edited this, in fact have spent longer on this chapter than all the others. Still not sure if I've conveyed enough emotion.**

**Have also kept the origins of Lithuania's and Russia's scars vague – that's up to you (the reader). I have my own head-canon on this. Although there's a Hetalia strip which refers to Lithuania having scars on his back, there's nothing in canon about Russia having scars (that I've seen anyway) but I've used my own imagination with this.**

**Bloody Sunday was the massacre in January 1905 in St Petersburg (after that Leningrad, now St Petersburg again) when the Russian Imperial Guard gunned down anti-Tsarist protestors who were marching on the Winter Palace. This became one of the key events which led to the Russian Revolution.**

**Also I know nothing about veterinary procedures and don't even attempt to pretend I do, so have kept this relatively vague.**

**Can't you tell I just love Lithuania/Poland (I think Poland's cross-dressing and humour is his way of coping). **

**Next chapters: More Dr Den, Su-Fin, Ame-Belgium, EngxBela, EstxUkraine, Norxmysteryman, Prussia's big prank finale, Gerald's most un-awesome story and is little Francis recovered? Also much more Russ-Lat goodness - flipping heck just realised that they haven't even kissed/snogged yet! Must remedy that...**


	25. Give Me Strength

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz and not me (unfortunately).**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Also special thanks and acknowledgements to Tamarutaca who drew a brilliant picture of Russia x Latvia – .com/art/1944-Baltic-Offensive-271201591**

**Also – I wouldn't normally advertise my other stories on this one but by popular demand (well a few of you requested it) I wrote a 'side chapter' of RussxLat fluff/smut – called A Winter Night – which is the uncensored version of my chapter Winter Nights – i.e. when Russia and Latvia first meet (a prequel). Please be aware its an M rating though. Feel free to read & review – or not.**

**Warnings: Dr Den, AusxHun fluff, BelaxEng fluff, sexual innuendo, swearing, silly random violence**

Chapter 25

We'll leave Russia and Latvia wrapped up in each other's arms in dreamland (for now) and return to Vienna General Hospital where Dr 'Den', Dr Kohler or 'Dr Swoon' as he called himself was 'busy'.

If 'busy' could be construed as enticing a gaggle of giggling nurses into a store cupboard for a 'physical'. He'd also – accidentally – pulled a large burly janitor into the same store cupboard at one point and had to beat a hasty retreat. It was one thing being stuck in a pantry with Francis but rather another thing getting into such a predicament with a tall burly man in overalls (the janitor, not Denmark) wielding a mop.

However, he was now in the children's ward cooing over little wide-eyed kids. Denmark genuinely loved children – which was good really as he'd fathered so many in his long life, sowing very irresponsible 'wild oats'. "Bad Santa," the children chanted and he happily sat on the floor surrounded by a group of children – ranging in ages from two to twelve years old, singing a rather bawdy Viking drinking song. It was to be his undoing.

Finland and Sweden had been into the psychiatric ward – amazingly empty of any of their fellow Nations, but found Spain still cooing over the babies in the Maternity Ward. They dragged him along in their wake and then heard the Dane's unmistakable voice. Denmark had the voice of a foghorn and he was singing in Danish (thank goodness) about ravishing young maidens on his longboat (pardon the pun). Even more scandalously the children joined in the chorus of 'Away to England we go, with my axe and my longbow'. Certainly if England had heard this (he was miles way, thankfully) he would have had to change his trousers, or at the very least he would have put down his cup of tea and said "Oh, I say!"

The chorus was then accompanied with clapping and a mad jig around the ward (for those who weren't bed-bound). As it happened, the nurses all thought this was marvellous – thinking 'Dr Den' was some kind of children's entertainer and 'super-dreamy'.

"Right, that's enough, Mathias. Out!" Finland said.

"Yep," Sweden added.

"Hola!" said Spain, who then picked up one of the singing children.

All the children gave disappointed 'Aaahs!' and Denmark took one look at his fellow Nordics thought 'fight or flight', decided as he didn't have his over-large axe he would do one – and he did – he ran. Sweden and Finland gave chase.

Spain was about to – slowly that is – follow his fellow Nations, but then he saw the disappointed children's faces, whipped out his guitar (he always, always carried it with him), settled himself down and began to sing some Spanish folk songs. All the nurses sighed in appreciation – and not just at the Spaniard's singing.

Meanwhile, in a private room Austria had got himself nicely settled. He had his own TV and Hungary had made him very comfortable – in fact she'd made him more than comfortable. After realising he'd broken his arm and he had mild concussion, she'd climbed into bed with him to 'nurse him properly'. Well let's just say there was a reconciliation of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire.

There had certainly been some activity that no hospital bed should ever be subjected to (unless France is in it of course):

"Oh Roddy!"

"Oh Lizzy!"

"Hang on move that bedrail out of the way."

"Ow, mind my arm!"

"This doesn't mean that we're back together." Hungary breathed as her dress was thrown one way, her pants the other.

"I know..." Austria said, pulling her closer.

"Oh, Roddy, I don't care if they say you're a stupid aristocrat," she said smothering him in kisses.

"Oh Lizzy... what?"

"Hmm, Roddy, put your hands there..."

"Oh Lizzy," 'Roddy' was momentarily confused but then started kissing his way down her neck.

"... and I don't care if they say you like men..."

"What?"

"I mean who cares what Gil says?"

"Eh? What? Gilbert?"

"Oh Roddy, you're so sexy when you're angry."

"Oh Liz!"

"...and that song 'Roddy doesn't have a penis' is not funny...ooooh Roddy... or true..." Hungary gasped as she pressed him back onto the bed (Hungary always tops...)

"Ooooh... what?"

* * *

><p>However, Hungary had now left – with her clothing now restored to its proper place and looking far more demure (or as demure as Hungary ever could look which was not saying much), Austria laid back dreamily on his extra pillow (he'd paid good money for it), milking the sympathy as much as possible. No more hosting the stupid conference, he'd got Lizzy 'back' and with a bit of luck he could charge all those damages to his insurance. And then:<p>

"I'm not sharing with him!"

A familiar voice broke into his reverie. Oh no.

"Vash! What happened to you?" Austria asked. The question was rather unnecessary as Switzerland's left leg was plastered from ankle to thigh.

"Are you stupid?" Switzerland answered, also rather unnecessarily – as if Austria would answer yes.

"You're not coming in here. This is a private room – paid for by me."

"There's nowhere else to put him. All the wards are full," the nurses said as they helped Switzerland into his bed.

"You're so mean, Roderich," Switzerland answered only using the Austrian's human name because they were in the company of humans.

"Well, I don't want you here, unless of course you pay half towards the room."

"Always trying to save your money. I don't want to be here. I would prefer not to have to look at your stupid face," Vash answered.

"Well go and join Gilbert and Francis then," Roderich shot back.

Switzerland went quiet, truth be told he did not want to be in the same ward as France – particularly as he was incapacitated and he didn't have a rifle - despite France saying 'leetle Francis' was out of action.

"What happened to you anyway?" Austria asked him.

"I fell out of a window."

"Hahaha, how ridiculous. What were you doing? Chasing someone who'd dared to look at Lily?"

"My rifle ...Anyway what happened to you?" Switzerland did not want to admit that he'd fallen out of a window trying to catch his favourite rifle.

"Russia beat me up."

"Ha! Well that just proves how weak you are. You never train. You've never been able to fight."

"At least I didn't fall out of a window after a rifle," Austria's voice started to get louder and more irate. "You have to have guts to get beaten up by Russia."

"Oh really? Stop making excuses, you've been weak since the 15th Century."

"I duelled with him!" Austria shouted, "With a sword," he added as if that made any difference.

"Well, I am surprised you didn't use a bratwurst sausage." Switzerland said, for once giving his sense of humour an airing.

"Well, he had a table leg," Austria admitted.

"He beat you with a table leg? Against a sword? Oh, Austria, you are useless."

Austria's face was getting redder and redder, "I wounded him, when we left he was bleeding!"

Switzerland was silent for a moment and then said quietly, "You're a dead man when he tracks you down."

By the time Hungary had returned, for some reason with cake and some helium balloons which proclaimed 'It's a girl!' (there were no others to be had and for some reason Hungary wanted some balloons), Austria had climbed out of bed and was yanking the pulley attached to Switzerland's damaged leg so the said broken limb was jerked up and down erratically. Switzerland yelled and thrashed around until he fell off the bed. However, Austria's amusement turned to horror as Vash located his crutches and with amazing rapidity crossed the floor and grabbed the Austrian in a headlock.

They grappled for several minutes, Hungary ran out – leaving the 'It's a girl!' balloons hanging mid-air, the cake on the floor – to get her camera.

The next minute, Switzerland was attempting to force Austria's head through a barely open window. Both men were yelling a weird mixture of German, Romansh and Hungarian swear words.

Hungary came dashing back in and was disappointed to find that they weren't pounding each other into the bed in spasms of hate-sex. Instead they were yelling how much they hated each other. Vash had whipped Austria's (spare) glasses off him, had put them on and was yelling in a very camp manner, "I'm Austria and I play the piano all day and bore my butler to death. And I'll marry anyone who'll have me!"

Austria almost had a coronary, "That's a lie! I haven't married anyone in over one hundred years!"

Hungary did the only thing she could think that would break them up – short of bringing in the ultimate insult-agram – Romano, she said, "Yes, Gilbert, I agree with you. They are totally un-awesome and they are so very lame."

Both men – their hands around each other's necks (Austria's glasses on Vash's face were now broken – the second pair that day to meet their demise), stopped dead, panting heavily.

Hungary then said the ultimate fight-stopper, "Stop touching each other!"

They pulled apart fast and shuddered.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

England was very very drunk. We should perhaps go back in time and explain what had happened just after leaving Ukraine's 'Couple's Therapy'. He'd drunk almost a full bottle of rum, smoked half a pack of cigarettes and decided that it was 'now or never' and he would go and get his girl. It is unsure as to why he decided to act like he was in a Western. But he swaggered or staggered through to the Mansion calling, "Bela-Bela." He finally found her, sobbing.

"Big brother is wounded and they're taking him to the..."

"Vet." Romano said with glee.

"...vet." Belarus said and, before England could say anything – his speech all worked out, she flung herself into his arms and sobbed, "Oh England I wanted to tell him that I love you and I was letting him go. I know he will be distraught, but I love you."

"Ha! Distraught!" Romano thought this was funny and nicked a cigarette from the 'tea bastard'.

England ignored him.

"We can get married and have four children..." Belarus continued in between sobs, "... and live in a little cottage with roses around the door." She'd obviously given this a lot of thought.

"Poor tea bastard," Romano said, "Tough luck eh?"

England glared at him and just pulled Belarus into his arms and patted her on the back. Whether it was because he was drunk or... because he was drunk, the thought of living in a little cottage with roses around the door with Belarus and four children gave him a fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Or that could have been the effects of the cheap, value cheese sandwiches he'd eaten at lunch.

After watching the odd (there was no other words for it in England's opinion) antics of Lithuania, Poland and Latvia stuffing a large Russian into the back of a ridiculously small French car (why? England thought drunkenly – perhaps it was some strange communist ritual they enacted, and of course, in England's eyes the only proper use for a French car was a skip) he pulled Belarus into Austria's study with him. It was perhaps the only room that had not been destroyed.

Belarus was still crying softly, "Poor brother!" she sobbed. Whether this was due to her brother's fate at being crammed into a puke-green French car or because he was wounded, it was unclear. England thought it was the former. England didn't really care, Russia was big enough to take care of himself, he thought.

By now they were sat quite comfortably, side by side, she with a bottle of vodka, he with a bottle of rum. Belarus had pulled out her wedding folder. This was the stuff of Russia's nightmares – high octane nightmare fuel – a ring binder chock-full of pictures of wedding dresses, cakes, wedding rings – everything a bride could possibly want. She'd waited hundreds of years to get married and she'd finally found someone who'd said yes without the use of hallucinogenic drugs, handcuffs or alcohol. Well actually alcohol was involved, but anyway. Arthur smiled happily, even when she quickly flicked through the magazine pictures of brides and grooms – the bride pictures bearing a taped-on photograph of her own head, with Ivan in place of the groom (Russia's worst nightmare).

"So you never, hic, told me your shtory, Gerald, old chap?" England asked Gerald who had brought in a tray of glasses and another bottle of rum.

"I think white for me, of course," Belarus glanced at England, relieved he didn't laugh at her suggestion of a white dress, "With blood-red roses. A nice dark suit for you and a red tie..." Belarus pointed to an appropriate picture for England. Arthur nodded absentmindedly.

Belarus leaned over and kissed him.

"Well, I've been in Mr Austria's employ for over 500 years. I arrived here in 1459. I was the junior footman then..." Gerald continued.

England took another swig of his rum and pulled Belarus onto his knee.

"... and the bridesmaids will wear red, blood-red." If England were sober he would have been alarmed at Belarus' continual references to 'blood-red'.

"Brideshmaidsh?" England slurred.

"Katya and Belgium and perhaps Latvia..." Belarus was a little nervous of leaving the Latvian out of the proceedings now, especially after that punch. Who'd have thought little, shaky Latvia could punch like that? "Big brother could give me away and you could have France as best man."

England almost dropped his rum at that, "No bloody way!"

Belarus started writing a guest list, still perched on England's lap.

"... and then I was made junior butler in 1503. Of course I was put in charge of the wine cellar..." Gerald continued his very boring story.

England wasn't listening but was watching, with drunken fascination as Belarus drew – with startling detail – a picture of her and England surrounded by hearts.

"... and then he killed me." Gerald finished.

"What?" England said. He'd switched off and hadn't been listening at all to Gerald's story – in fact the butler's voice sounded like the drone of a bumblebee.

"He killed me. He played Mozart non-stop for 18 hours a day for 7 days and I died of the boredom. So I am now doomed to spend eternity in this house with Mr Austria," Gerald finished his very boring story of his very boring life with his very boring death.

"You poor chap."

"... and of course we'll get married in church." Belarus was getting really excited now and her face shone with happiness. A wedding to Ivan would have involved handcuffs, amnesia and copious amounts of alcohol and the least number of people there the better, but with Arthur the possibilities were endless. Her dream of a fairytale wedding was becoming a reality.

Gerald dissipated into thin air with a very disapproving look on his face as Belarus kissed England deeply. England grinned broadly.

"A coach and horses!" she said and made a note.

England, who liked horses very much – his more epic battles had been fought on horseback – liked that idea and gave Belarus a kiss and, with great daring (evidence of just how drunk he was) stroked his hand up and down her back.

"And our first child shall be called..."

"Daishy!" Arthur said.

"What?"

"I have to go home shoon to get Daishy back from nesht door neighbour. You know. My puppy Daishy."

"Our puppy, Arthur, she's our puppy," Belarus said.

"Not called Arthur, she's called Daishy, oh..." England grinned and kissed her again.

"Hmm, Arthur. We will have four children, two boys and two girls." Belarus stated, hoping to God they did not inherit their father's weakness for rum.

"I mish my conolies...colonies," England said.

"Then you shall have some more," Belarus announced confidently.

"Oh Bela," England got to his feet and lurched a bit.

Belarus also got to her feet, the vodka had hardly had any effect on her and she was about to throw Arthur over her shoulder when he said, "No, Bela, I'll carry you." Actually he could barely walk but he picked her up bridal style and staggered out the door and wended his way to the stairs. In his little confused head, he was replaying the ending scene from 'An Officer and a Gentleman' and he was Richard Gere.

"Wait, Arthur! My binder!" Belarus said, "Go back."

So he staggered back so she could retrieve her precious wedding folder.

"Yesh," he slurred and proceeded to stagger up the stairs.

"Wait! My vodka!" Belarus said.

England, by now his back aching, grumbled a bit and staggered back down the stairs. "Richard Gere didn't have thish problem," he moaned

"What?" Belarus asked and then, "Spasiba!" she breathed and kissed him.

Arthur's back was screaming now, he was getting too old for this he surmised - carrying young maidens off and ravishing them in a drunken haze – he doubted if, by the time he got to the bedroom, he would have the energy to take his trousers down never mind enjoy any 'ravishing'. He set Belarus down halfway up the stairs and stretched his back. Belarus decided this was the time she should encourage him, "I'm wearing silk stockings," she whispered seductively in his ear.

His reaction was more than she'd hoped for – he picked her up and ran up the stairs. Ivan usually ran – but usually in the opposite direction (the author is unsure as to Ivan's reaction if these words were whispered not by his sister but by Latvia). Arthur had suddenly found a burst of energy. It had been many a year since he'd seen a woman in silk stockings – alas a Frenchman - yes, but a woman – no (which probably says more about Anglo-Franco bilateral relations than anything else).

They got to his and America's bedroom and found it locked. Frustrated, Arthur set Belarus down and banged on the door. He thought he heard shuffling inside and got angry. He thought to himself, "What would Ivan do?" so he did what Ivan would do, stepped back to karate kick the door in. Unfortunately he kicked the door and his left foot went straight through the door and stayed there.

"Ow, bloody shodding hell." Arthur swore.

Belarus stepped back and kicked the door in herself. If you can't get a man to do, do it yourself, she reasoned.

Arthur scooped Belarus up and strode into the room to find... America and Belgium on the double bed. He (America that is) was dressed in his jedi costume, she (Belgium) was dressed in a Princess Leia costume complete with gold bikini, chains and wig.

"What the bloody hell?" Arthur shouted.

"Hmm, interesting," Belarus said, probably referring to the chains, but who knows?

Alfred jumped up, he'd just enjoyed being ravished by 'Princess Leia', "Arty! You always spoil things!"

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Arthur exclaimed, suddenly sobering up.

Belgium and Belarus exchanged exasperated looks, Belarus attempting to pull England away.

"It's none of your business, you're not my brother!" Alfred 'Skywalker' shouted.

"No, Alfred, I am your father!" Arthur said.

"What?"

**Author's Note: When Switzerland mentions the 15th Century he's talking about the 1470s when the Swiss Confederacy had a series of successes against the Habsburgs and then gained independence eventually from the Holy Roman Empire.**

**An Officer and a Gentleman – a cheesy romantic film from the 80s – the ending is quite famous where the hero (Richard Gere) in Naval uniform turns up at the factory where the heroine works at, picks her up and carries her out – all to the cheers of her co-workers.**

**Spasiba – thank you in Russian**

**Next chapter – we'll catch up with Estonia and Ukraine, IcyxLily, more American Idiot, find out if little Francis is okay and if we have the time check up on RussxLat, don't worry I haven't forgotten Prussia and his most awesome prank finale, also Norway's mystery man, Canada gets some loving and things get hot - literally.**


	26. One

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Amdeloa, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**And thank you of course to all my anonymous readers and everyone who's stayed with me thus far. Not many chapters to go and then I'll wrap this story up. **

**Warnings: Loads of fluff – so much fluff you could stuff a pillow, also 'leetle Francis' makes a recovery, Prussia, Denmark. RussxLat fluff (both coherent this time)**

Chapter 26 - One

"No, Alfred, I am your father."

"What?" Alfred, Belgium and Belarus all said.

"Hahaha, I was just messing with you! Good Lord, you fool I'm not your father. Heaven help us!"

"Well... I'm glad you're not my father. I'm America and I'm glad I'm not half-British. Haha. Seriously, dude."

Belarus took hold of England and shoved him out of the door and frog-marched him to her bedroom, she slammed open the door and shoved him inside. "Get in there and get your clothes off!" she said, not one for wasting time.

England stammered "Erm yes... b... b... but Bela I..." he blushed, "I don't have any condoms."

Belarus smiled, "I'm on the pill," she informed him and threw him bodily on the bed.

"Oh I say!" England said as she slammed the door behind her, "What a woman!" he said, not for the last time that night.

* * *

><p>Downstairs, Lithuania and Poland had finally arrived back from their visit to the vets. Unfortunately they had been stopped by the Police – as predicted by Lithuania. Fortunately, Lithuania had been carrying Romano's driving licence and it was this that had received the extra points for: driving without due care and attention (Poland had distracted Lithuania by showing him his suspender belt), driving without lights (Austria had been too mean to buy new bulbs for his headlights), speeding (Lithuania wanted to get back to the house before Poland had divested of any more clothing) and driving the wrong way down a one way street. Unfortunately though they also received a fine of 500 schilling – but they gave the name of Roderich Edelstein which the Austrian Policeman happily took – as the fine-payer.<p>

Poland got busy straight away, telling everyone that Russia was mistaken for a dog. Completely leaving out the juiciest gossip – that they'd left Latvia with him.

* * *

><p>Down in the ballroom – the dance was about to start. In lieu of the host (Austria was lying in a hospital bed no doubt still shouting at Switzerland), Adelaide had taken charge, put a series of waltzes on the battered old record player and informed everyone they were to enjoy themselves. It was a rag-taggle bunch. Belarus and England were 'busy' elsewhere. America and Belgium had finally emerged – America looking very pleased with himself but also looking quite bedraggled – but were sat in a corner giggling and, as England would no doubt call it, 'canoodling'.<p>

Italy was sat by Germany's bedside – the German Nation had barely moved since being knocked out by Lithuania. He was conscious but he was not the Germany everyone knew and respected. A change had come over him. One that the Italian thought was beyond his wildest dreams.

Norway was looking at his watch, "He should be here any time now," he thought, and for once he was not thinking of his idiot charge, Denmark.

Romano was a in a bad mood – there was nobody of any note to annoy or insult – this was soon to change. Greece was asleep – where he'd been most of the conference – in the conference room with a stray cat on his head, Turkey had taken himself off – he'd been annoyed after the Phantom of the Opera codename and had gone home.

There remained only Canada – who courteously asked Adelaide to dance with him. "Y..y..you know who I am?" Canada asked Adelaide. She nodded, and then rested one hand on his shoulder, the other curled in his hand, he gently placed his hand around her waist. He smiled, he was actually amazed, no-one ever remembered him. He'd asked her to join him for the dance earlier that day and had assumed that she would forget immediately, but she didn't. "You're Mr Canada, can I call you Matthew?" she asked.

Canada nodded and smiled, "Of course," and tightened his hold on her, he paused for a moment and waved at Kumajiro and then slowly waltzed around the room.

Adelaide had decided that out of all the Nations, the Canadian appeared to be the only one with any sense (apart from Lithuania), was handsome, cute and could perhaps, if she played her cards right she thought, get her out of this crapsack job. She was fed up of being shouted at by Austria and moaned at by her great x 6 grandfather, it was time that she got out and, she thought, being the wife of a Nation (if she could manage it) would suit her just fine. Besides she liked the idea of living in Canada – isn't that where everyone went to retire?

* * *

><p>Vienna General Hospital<p>

As it was now getting late, many of the inmates – erm patients – were bedding down for the night. Many – such as Austria and Switzerland – had been given sleeping pills to calm them. The two Nations had finally had to be sedated to stop them from doing each other harm. Only with the threat – from Hungary – that they would be transferred to the dreaded Ward 13 to join Prussia and France – had they accepted the medication and finally peace had reigned.

Over on Ward 13, Spain was visiting Prussia. The Spaniard had finally been kicked out of the children's ward with his guitar after one particularly big, unfriendly (to him anyway) nursing sister who was immune to his big brown eyes and 'gorgeous arse' (the nurses' words, not the author's (ahem)), found that he was not the father of any of the child patients (although his remonstrations that he was a 'dad many times over' did not go down well).

Prussia was giving the Spaniard instructions, hoping against hope that Antonio would complete his nefarious plan. "So you need to go down to the cellar and... are you even listening, Tony Dude?"

"I miss my niños," Spain said softly, his eyes had a faraway look.

"Yes, but I bet they don't miss you," Prussia said.

"You do not understand, you have never had children," Spain said.

"Kesese, none that I know about. I'm not that stupid, or un-awesome... or lame..." Prussia broke off. Actually now he came to think about it, a mini-Prussia would be awesome.

"I understand, Antonio, I miss mes enfants, also." Francis said dramatically.

"Shut up, Francis, you've had loads of kids, the population explosion is all your fault. You're a one-man baby boom," Prussia shouted and threw a pillow at the Frenchman.

"Oh, but leetle Francis is not working, he may never work again..." France was seriously worried about 'leetle Francis' – there had been no, shall we say, activity, all day – which for France was unheard of.

And then a small, cute blond nurse came bustling in with a tray of pills. "Oh, mademoiselle," France breathed, "You have come to give me a bedbath, non?" The nurse shook her head, she was used to idiotic male patients. "Honhonhon," France giggled, "I think she fixed leetle Francis."

Prussia proceeded to outlay his plan to Spain, hoping that the Spaniard would take in enough to see it through. It wasn't that difficult to remember, surely? He ignored the activity coming from behind the curtains that surrounded France's bed.

Suddenly, however, there was the sharp sound of a slap and the curtains were pulled apart and the nurse emerged pulling her skirt down over her thighs. She stormed off with a look of outrage.

"Honhonhon," came the sound from behind the curtains. This laugh was short-lived however, as two Austrian policemen arrived to arrest Francis for – in their words – 'being French in a confined space'. The author is unsure if this is actually a crime.

Prussia and Spain ignored all this, it was par for the course when spending any time with France. The Frenchman had been arrested so many times for such offences it wasn't really worth even commenting on anymore.

* * *

><p>Also terrorising the hospital's female occupants had been Denmark, although none of them would see it in that manner. But Dr Den's tenancy was soon to come to a resounding end. He'd crashed through the hospital with Sweden and Finland in his wake, even going so far as to hide in the mortuary – in a steel cabinet drawer. He'd actually quite enjoyed playing a corpse and spent half an hour in the confines of a cold drawer, drinking his remaining bottles of Carlsberg, and releasing wind so that the sounds echoed around his metal casket. Awesome! He thought if he could belch particularly loudly it could make all the adjacent 'drawers' vibrate.<p>

This was his undoing. He took one particularly long draught on his beer, took a deep breath and belched. He wasn't the King of Northern Europe for nothing, it was well known amongst his fellow Nordics that his 'wind' could propel Viking longboats – this was precisely how he'd sailed across the North Sea after all and invaded England – and the noise did indeed make the metal casings of the large cold chamber reverberate. But it also brought a shriek from the mortuary attendant. "Oh heck," Denmark thought. He shoved open the drawer and jumped down. The attendant promptly screamed and fainted. Having one of the corpses actually jump out of a drawer was the stuff of nightmares.

Denmark ran his fingers through his short blond hair and prodded the man, and then shrugged. He heard a thunderous roar coming down the corridor – Sweden and Finland he thought. But hey, at least his hair was awesome again. Obviously making out with cute nurses, singing bawdy songs with little kids and then scaring a mortuary attendant out of his wits had made him awesome again -awesome enough to have awesome hair. He grinned and then, just as Berwald and Tino charged in through the swing door, ran. However, his awesome hair was to be his undoing. As he ran, he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the metal cabinets and stopped. He grinned, snapped his fingers and said, "Looking good," immensely pleased that his hair was now vertical. Sweden and Finland, both running full pelt into the room, collided with him, knocking him off his feet and the three fell to the floor into a big Nordic mess.

* * *

><p>Dr Pumplenickelstein's veterinary surgery<p>

Russia woke with a start, it was still dark. He had a numb feeling in his left arm but other than that felt reasonably comfortable. His wooziness was gone as was his dizziness. He was laid on the hard floor of some kind of enclosure with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and in his arms was a small sleeping female form.

He gently pulled the girl closer and then he remembered, "I won't leave you," she'd said and she hadn't. He could feel her soft breath on his chest, she had one arm slung around his waist, the other curled against his chest. He gently nuzzled her soft blond hair and watched her gentle face stir a little. Her nose twitched in her sleep. She was so cute, so beautiful and he wondered what on earth he'd done to deserve this – his little sunflower – curled up against him.

He vaguely remembered her standing in front of him to protect him from Belarus. (He shuddered a little at that memory.) And then he remembered falling. The ride to the vets and laying on the hard metal table was just a hazy fog. All he remembered was her beautiful blue eyes gazing into his and her soft voice reassuring him. He would have followed that voice into hell itself, he thought.

He disengaged one hand from around her small waist and stroked her hair tenderly. "My love," he murmured.

Latvia woke up slowly, blinking for a moment wondering where she was. For a moment she thought she was back at home in Leningrad, in her bed, having the most delicious dream about Ivan... and ...oh. She could feel Russia's gentle breaths ruffling her hair and one large hand was around her waist, while the other was stroking her cheek. She thought for a minute that he was still asleep, but then realised that she couldn't hear the trademark snoring.

_Do I just pretend to be asleep? I don't know what to do. I'm scared, but oh God, this feels so nice. Hmm, he feels so warm and strong. And I can feel his heartbeat, of course he has a heart. Shall I just... oh... he's stroking my back. Oh God, shall I stroke his back? Hmm, my knees have turned to jelly. I'm going to kiss him. No, I won't, yes I will... oh God, here goes._

She lifted her head and kissed him on the lips. Russia hands stopped their working and he froze and then hummed in appreciation, sending a vibration through both their bodies.

Russia murmured "Aija," softly into her lips. Lips parted and tongues darted, tasted and then they pulled apart panting. Russia brought his hands up to hold her face and gently pressed his lips to hers again, his lips brushing hers and then lovingly traced them along her jawline and ventured lower down to her neck. Aija sighed in appreciation and squirmed, placing both her hands around his neck and then stroked his hair. His scarf got in the way a little and she fumbled with the pink sunflower patterned wool. Ivan jerked his head up and shook his head.

"It's okay, Vanya," she whispered, "I've seen your scars."

Ivan softened a bit at her use of his patronym (only Katya or Natalya ever called him that) and relaxed, trusting her.

She unwound his scarf and he blushed, embarrassed. He hated people seeing his neck. He knew it was ugly and it also reminded him of his weakness. Aija gently stroked his cheek, soft tears forming in her eyes.

Ivan stroked the tears away, upset that she was upset and then drew her into his arms and gathered her to his chest.

"We shouldn't, I mean you're my boss and..." Aija broke off and cuddled him back, her hands on his broad shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Shhhh," Russia soothed her and stroked her lower back.

"I know but... Toris, Eduard and Feliks... I don't want them to know... if they knew..." she stopped, worried she'd offended him. "It doesn't seem right..." she trailed off.

"They don't need to know anything..." Russia murmured, "We can keep this between us."

"I don't know..." she said doubtfully. She actually just wanted to stay there, in Russia's arms in the Austrian's surgery and not have to face the other Nations. "Can I stay here a bit?" she whispered against his chest.

"Hmmm," Russia whispered back, "There's no rush. But you won't leave me will you?"

"No, I'm not going anywhere."

"I mean, ever?" Russia asked, still stroking her as if she were a little cat.

Aija looked up into his intense purple gaze, "Hmm? Ever? I..." It was one thing, she thought, whispering sweet nothings to him when he was barely conscious, but when he was awake and coherent was another thing. He was still Russia after all - big and intimidating.

"Little Latvia is mine now, nyet? Little Aija will stay with me and become one with Russia?" Ivan whispered, his voice wavering, his purple eyes not leaving her face. His hold on her tightened.

"Vanya, you're hurting me," she gasped, as she felt her breath being squeezed out of her body.

Ivan relaxed his grip a little, "I'm sorry, my little one, I would never hurt my little Aija." he whispered. "But you will be mine, nyet?"

"What, now?" Aija felt some trepidation, she was enjoying the cuddling and the kissing but after almost forty years of living the way she had, thinking of Russia as a lover again was giving her goosebumps. She felt scared, elated, happy and... so many emotions making her feel dizzy.

Russia thought about this, at least she hadn't said no, he reasoned. He buried his face in her hair and sighed happily, "Nyet, there is no rush. I can wait. Little Aija is mine." He said in a little sing-song voice.

Aija softly stroked his blond hair feeling all warm and fuzzy but with an underlying feeling of trepidation. What on earth did 'become one with Russia mean'?

"Ivan? "

"Hmmm?"

"Can we just go to sleep?" she whispered carefully.

"Hmmm, that would be nice," Ivan answered.

Aija curled up against his chest, one hand softly stroking his broad shoulder and tried to regain sleep. Russia almost immediately started snoring gently, his scarf wrapped around them both, his chin resting on the top of her head.

**Author's Note:**

**I don't know what a traffic fine would be in Austria – schilling was the old currency before they brought in the euro and I couldn't find what 500 schilling would be in euros or whether this is even a feasible fine – if I'm completely wrong please feel to correct me.**

**Sorry for the cliffhanger in the last episode - I mean chapter – I couldn't resist the Star Wars reference as Alfred has been acting as Luke Skywalker all day. I was literally just messing around.**

**Niños – Spanish for children**

**Bit of Russ-Lat fluff coming out there, unplanned – but felt it was time to give them some lurve. Didn't want them to rush into anything - unlike EnglandxBela, AmericaxBelgium etc etc. Also I've swapped to calling them Aija and Ivan in this chapter for a bit – Russia and Latvia seemed a bit 'formal' for them now.**


	27. Pure Shores

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Not many more chapters to go chappies - again, thank you to everyone for staying with me. You all deserve a medal for endurance. (This was originally going to be a short story about Latvia being a girl in Russia's house, Russia finds out, fluffiness, the end… hahahahahahahaha - deranged laughter.)**

**Warnings: fluff, crack, the usual silliness**

Chapter 27 – Pure Shores

It was an odd ball to say the least, the record player kept jumping and occasionally, Romano, being incredibly bored, changed the setting from 33 rpm to 45 rpm so the stately waltz turned into a polka. Also only Canada and Adelaide were actually waltzing.

Poland - in a truly gorgeous pink frilly ball gown (what else?) was attempting to get everyone to do 'The Timewarp' with him. Lithuania, looking extremely handsome in Russia's old tuxedo - he decided as his boss was otherwise detained, he would wear it - at Poland's behest, and was now drinking rather heavily. He wasn't sure if it had been a good idea to leave Latvia with Russia and if he hadn't been so scared of his boss - unconscious or otherwise - he would have gone and retrieved her. Still, Poland's advice had been 'leave them, like, Liet, they totally, like, go together and she calms the big guy'. He just hoped that Poland was right - in fact, he usually was.

America and Belgium (Louise he finally called her) were smooching to the music - Belgium leading. Sealand was bored, he had got hold of a dartboard and was playing darts in Austria's study. He also had Spain's cigarettes and was planning, as his 'mum and dad' were out, trying out smoking.

Unfortunately, though - for him - his 'mum and dad', with Denmark and Spain in tow, arrived back.

"I was so awesome. I helped loads of people. All cured thanks to me."

"Coupons of Danish love do not constitute a cure."

"Haha, you're just jealous. You're both such tight arses."

"Take that white coat off. And the stethoscope."

"Look Norgy, my hair is awesome again!"

"Don't call me Norgy."

"Haha! Did you miss me, Norge?" Denmark (for it was he - his voice echoing around the mansion) punctuated this by giving the Norwegian a huge bear hug.

"You're a fool." Norway answered and struggled out of his grasp.

"He loves me really." Denmark stated and then as he had the attention span of a goldfish suddenly said, "Woohoo, a dance, get in!" and promptly charged into the ballroom and began jumping up and down, head banging to imaginary heavy metal music.

"Why did you bring him back?" Norway asked Sweden and Finland, "Could you not have left him there?"

Their conversation was brought to a halt however, as Spain also threw himself (or as much as someone with the urgency of a tortoise on speed can throw themselves anywhere) into the ballroom and danced with Denmark - a tango - odd to say the least, but both Nations appeared to enjoy themselves – Spain leading.

Sweden and Finland shrugged their shoulders and went in to watch the carnage - which is really all anyone could call it.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile upstairs in Germany and Italy's bedroom, Italy was being re-acquainted with someone he thought he would never see again.<p>

"Italy will you become the Roman Empire with me?"

"Ve, Luddy?"

"I've loved you since at least the 10th century."

"Si, I have always loved you… ve… what?"

Germany's voice had changed to a strange mixture of Italian and Germanic accent. His hair was wild and, for some reason, a strange, soft smile was adorning his face.

Italy could barely believe what he was hearing.

"Vee, you came back! Holy Rome?"

"Italy, I always said I would come back!"

Italy flung his arms around his friend and hugged him with all his strength – which wasn't much really.

"Soooo, you're not Luddy, you're Holy Rome… But I don't understand…"

"I've always been Holy Rome… oh Italy… you've grown up so much… but now I'm Germany and I remember everything… You taught me to draw and we swam in the stream and you gave me a push broom."

"You remember! You gave me food when I was starving! Oh Luddy… erm Holy Rome… erm Germany… you really are you!"

"Yes, Italy it's me. But you weren't starving, you were just hungry."

This conversation all took place as the two hugged each other, Italy's face was beaming, Germany grinning like an idiot. After the blow to the head, Germany had been unconscious for about an hour and then awoke with all these memories… He remembered everything. His time as Holy Rome in Austria's house, his battles, his time with young Italy who he'd always thought of as a girl. But deep down, he realised he knew Italy had been a boy, it had just been easier to deal with. And then… blackness, and reborn as Germany. Did he spend time in France's house? He couldn't be sure, memories came flooding back - some painful, some joyous – particularly those with Italy. And calling France big brother? Surely not? He shook his head, all that mattered was that he was back with the one he'd always loved, no matter that he wasn't a girl. That the young female Nation in the little green dress and the white apron who'd so entranced him was actually a boy. Love was love.

"We were always meant to be together! Ve, Germany, I told you so."

"Yes you did," Germany answered. Suddenly having almost 900 years of memories hitting his brain shook the 'young' man but he took it in his stride. What really irked him was the fact that France of all people must have known... and Austria.

"Those bastards!" Germany/Holy Roman Empire suddenly shouted.

"What's the matter, Germany, ve?" Italy said suddenly concerned at his friend's sudden change.

* * *

><p>"Shouldn't you be in bed, Peter?" Sweden asked Sealand.<p>

"Okay, okay, I'm going," Sealand answered and slouched out. But Sealand didn't go to bed... he went for a wander instead. He loved his 'parents' very much and despite England's constant scolding he also had a fond attachment to his 'Jerk England Dad' although he refused to live with him. Putting himself up for sale had probably not been the wisest thing the young Principality had ever done. Russia had almost bought him – until he'd found he wasn't a real island and he didn't reside somewhere warm. But living with Sweden and Finland was not always a bundle of laughs. Sure, he got to test all the toys before they went out to little kids – having Santa as a 'Mum' had its advantages but they could also be very boring. Sweden was very strict about school attendance and homework.

"They always treat me like a little kid. I'm fed up of it." Sealand muttered to himself as he stomped down some steps and found himself in Prussia's underground lair.

"Wooo, top banana!" Sealand enthused when he found Prussia's stash of beer, soft porn magazines and fireworks.

He picked up one of the magazines, and instantly put it back down blushing madly. However, the beer and the fireworks did interest him. He wished for a minute that his partner in crime, Latvia, was there and then remembered she was now a girl. Oh well, there goes a good friendship, he'd thought at first, until that huge row had erupted at the meeting between Jerk Germany and her boss. Sealand had spotted that Russia was protective over Latvia and thought that this could prove useful in future. He and Raivis could get up to all sorts of pranks and who's going to tell them off if Russia's going to stick up for little Latvia?

"Cheep cheep."

Where was that coming from, Sealand had just picked up some other items from Prussia's secret cache – a well-thumbed Jane Austen novel and some partly-done embroidery. Who lives down here? He thought? Jerk England? He was the only Nation Sealand knew that did embroidery, but he wasn't sure about the porn. He knew Russia did knitting – which he thought secretly hilarious but would never laugh at – he didn't particularly want Russia to stab him with a knitting needle and carry on knitting with his main artery. But where was that cheeping coming from.

"Cheep cheep," a small yellow canary-like bird landed on his shoulder.

"Gilbird! Hello! So this is Prussia's hideout eh? Hmmm," Sealand found this very interesting indeed – potential blackmail coming into the young man's mind. He picked up another book – Introduction to Quantum Physics – what?

Sealand laughed in what he hoped was an evil super-villain laugh, "Bwahahaha, Prussia thinks he's so awesome, but I will show how much more awesomer I am than him," he said and managed, after breaking several matches, to light a cigarette. "Finally I will be a grown up and Mum and Dad and Jerk Dad can't do anything about it..." he then broke off into a spasm of coughing and spluttering as he took his first lungful of tobacco smoke.

"I'm... cough... the...cough... awesomeist...cough...splutter... Sealand... and ...cough...no-one... cough... tells... me... cough splutter... when to ... cough go to bed..." Sealand sank to his knees in a fit of spluttering. If his lungs had spilled out on to the floor at his feet he wouldn't have been surprised. Carelessly, he flung the still smouldering cigarette down and staggered up the cellar steps to get air and a drink of water. Gilbird, chirruping, followed him and then escaped into the night sky to find his master.

* * *

><p>Seychelles<p>

A white sandy beach under the warm sun, Iceland and Lily the newly-weds were laid side-by-side holding hands, sunbathing. Their plan had worked – after over a year of clandestine meetings, furtive telephone conversations, hiding in closets at world meetings, they had finally escaped Vash's manic protectiveness. They sighed contentedly, the normally cool and reserved Iceland grinning Denmark-like.

Then a shadow fell over them, "Aaargh! Big brother!" Lily screamed and jumped up, Iceland also jumped to his feet. But it wasn't Switzerland, it was the pallid, bespectacled face of Estonia looking down at them, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of kohuke. Estonia raised an eyebrow.

"Miss Lily! Does your brother know you're here?"

"Oh it's you, Estonia," Iceland said and settled back down.

"No, he doesn't and please don't tell him," Lily said.

"Hmm, I see. Can I interest you in property investment?"

"No you can't, we're on our honeymoon!" Iceland exclaimed standing up again. He looked Estonia up and down. The Baltic was wearing shorts – with a dress shirt and tie and was holding a briefcase.

"Why are you here anyway?" Iceland added.

"Honeymoon?" Estonia smiled ignoring the question. "Then I strongly advise you to consider putting money away in a property portfolio for any future children."

Lily blushed – as did Iceland.

"Yoo hoo! Ed! Oh Lily! Oh Icy! Well... this is where you two got to." Ukraine came bounding or, as one should say, bouncing, towards them.

Eduard dropped his briefcase and choked on his kohuke.

Iceland and Lily's eyes widened and Lily had to reach over and shut Icy's jaw for him. Ukraine was wearing a bikini or more specifically a tiny polka-dot bikini. Her 'tracts of land', as her brother called them, threatening to overspill at any moment.

"What are you doing here?" Iceland shot back at Estonia, ignoring the reference to Vash and the offer of property investment.

"We're here on some R and R aren't we, Ed?" Ukraine grabbed Estonia's arm and squeezed him in her strong arms.

All four Nations settled down on the white sand. Estonia's 'business' forgotten as he was assigned to rub Factor 40 onto Ukraine's back. Eduard's face was bright red and not just from the sun and the heat, although he was feeling very hot under the collar.

Icy and Lily laid back, giggling surreptitiously at the Baltic's obvious embarrassed state.

"And my shoulders, Ed. Oh and don't forget the backs of my legs." Katya instructed.

"Oh okay, Miss Katya, I mean, oh... your legs?" Eduard stammered.

Katya laid on her stomach and grinned into her towel, "Come on, Ed or I'll get burnt! I don't want to get sunburn. If we want to tell brother Russia we had to go home on urgent business we can't get sunburn."

At the mention of his boss, who, Eduard felt would certainly rip his head off for so much as looking at his sister, never mind rubbing lotion on her, made the young Baltic rub more vigorously.

"Perhaps Miss Katya, you and Estonia would like to share our little beach-front cottage with us?" Lily ventured, ignoring Iceland's frantic headshaking.

"Well, we're staying in a hotel and... " Estonia said, and then added hurriedly and rather primly, "...in separate bedrooms of course."

Ukraine shook her head – her attempts at getting Estonia to share with her had been a no-go – obviously his fear of 'brother Russia' and 'Mr Pipe' being far greater than any desire he might have had for her 'tracts of land'.

"Oh, but it would be so cosy. We rented a little seafront house and there's an extra bedroom." Lily explained, her little face shining.

"That would be lovely," Katya exclaimed, "Much better than a hotel!"

"Yes, but just two bedrooms. I mean... I suppose if me and Icy share?" Estonia hesitated, the thoughts of a very angry Russia filling his head.

"No way, Lily and I are married," Iceland said, totally outraged.

Lily proudly showed her gold wedding band to Ukraine.

"Oh, how romantic!" Ukraine said.

"We got a special licence. We married this afternoon," Iceland said and entwined his arms around Lily.

"Oh we can't possibly split them up, Ed, not on their wedding night."

"Precisely, they should have their privacy," Estonia said, much relieved.

Iceland nodded vigorously and kissed Lily gently on the cheek.

"Oh so cute!" Ukraine shrieked at the two diminutive blond Nations.

"It's okay, you two can have the other bedroom. It'll be fun! Why waste money on a hotel room?" Lily said, sounding remarkably like her big brother.

Katya grabbed Eduard in a clinch and gave the startled Baltic a sloppy kiss, "Oh Eduard you will be all mine!" she said – sounding unnervingly like her brother.

* * *

><p>Watching the four Nations through a pair of binoculars was a small girl with long, dark hair. Her brown eyes widened and she then flung the binoculars away from her in disgust. 'Nations!' she thought, 'Here, on my beautiful island.' She'd had enough of them during the War. The Axis and the Allies – causing trouble, all the shouting, running about, the stupid campfire songs, that idiot Italian's crazy sandcastles (although she'd been secretly impressed by that). She'd already been acquainted with England and France – who she'd played off against one another, but the others had been new to her. She'd hit Russia with a wet fish when he'd said he was going to stay – 'because it was so warm', Austria had got his piano stuck in the sea and she'd had to hire a tow-boat to get it out and China had built a Chinatown – which had actually been quite a good thing she conceded but at the time she'd seen as a gross invasion of her lovely unspoilt island paradise. And now here they were – four of the idiots. One of them was Russia's sister she was sure. 'I'm going to sort them out', she thought. 'They're not staying here.'<p>

**Author's notes: The Holy Roman Empire lasted from 962 to 1806 when the last Holy Roman Emperor abdicated after defeat by Napoleon. The remaining land was absorbed into French territory and eventually became the Germany Confederacy - a series of small states which eventually became modern Germany.**

**The idea that Germany was Holy Rome is my head canon and I think hinted at in official canon? Anyway apologies in advance and if anyone seriously disagrees or is offended - I'm sorry I just think he looks just like HRE and I thought it would be fun if he got amnesia and all the memories came back. Flame me if you want (but you'll just make me laugh!)**

**Also the references to the push-broom, swimming in the stream etc are stolen from the anime.**

**I don't know what Belgium's human name is - I settled for Louise, apologies if I'm wrong **

**Yes I know Vienna to Seychelles flight would take around 9 hours, so it would be much later that Estonia and Ukraine would arrive, but I just used literary licence and got them there earlier... (I don't know – by tardis?)**

**Kohuke – popular curd snack in the Baltic states – a type of sweet bar – pressed curd filled with raisins and jam (a nod there to ElementalCat).**

**Have started calling Liechtenstein Lily mainly because I got fed up of typing Liech... oh well.**

**I'm assuming everyone knows that the person watching Ukraine, Iceland, Lily, and Estonia is Seychelles.**

**'Getting Austria's piano stuck in the sea' and 'building a Chinatown', 'singing a campfire song' – all nods to the anime – but can't remember which episodes**

**'Hitting Russia with a wet fish' – this isn't in the anime but I did read a cute fanfiction where Seychelles does just that.**

**Sorry about the wait in updates – had a few issues with laptop. Next chapter will follow soon I promise – Prussia's dreams (eek), an awesome escape, vampires and seduction ala France.**


	28. Grimly Fiendish

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: Athesia, Allidiah, Amdeloa, GoodnessCoconuts, VengefulCat, Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell and all my other readers.**

**Warnings: Prussia's dreams, France, silliness, crack, swearing**

Chapter 28 – Grimly Fiendish

Vienna, Austria

A very pleased Frenchman was being escorted into a police station.

"Oh honhonhon, handcuffs non? How kinky? I did not realise you Austrians were so inclined."

The Austrian policemen however, ignored him, relatively (but only just) immune to France's seductive voice. However, the policewoman who was to book France in and do his paperwork, a 'Maria' as France quickly ascertained, was not so immune.

"You are to take down my credentials, ma chere? Oh oui, I hope they are to your satisfaction. I am in handcuffs as you see, so you shall have to help yourself non? Oh oui, mon ange..."

With disturbing predictability, within five minutes of Francis entering the booking-in office he and the policewoman were in a state of undress on the desk – Francis still in handcuffs. Obviously paperwork was forgotten. Francis' credentials were taken down and noted and to Francis' delight 'leetle Francis' was back in good working order.

Despite what everyone thought of France (mainly England and most of the other Nations), he was a genuine seducer – he told people he loved them and at that moment of seduction he truly did. Francis' capacity for love was huge (pardon the pun). He truly did love everyone he slept with and was genuinely distressed when people (mainly England) called him a pervert or a sex pest. He really did love and adore his fellow Nations and humans (males and females alike) and could not understand why the world's problems could not be solved with l'amour.

No matter, he was now solving his current arrest problem with l'amour.

* * *

><p>Ward 13, Vienna General Hospital<p>

Prussia, unusually for him was not plotting the downfall of others, pranking anyone, drinking beer, annoying his brother or perusing his stash of porn. The most awesome non-Nation, the personification of all things awesome was ... asleep.

Prussia was dreaming and Prussia's dreams were unlike other non-awesome people's dreams, they were truly epic. This particular one was on a par with a blockbuster movie. He was stood in the centre of the burning ruins of a city (Moscow/Vienna/London – delete as appropriate). The conquered people surrounding him chanting "Prussia rules, oh Awesome Nation!" Hordes of scantily-clad women were draped over him. He was of course, garbed in full Teutonic Knight uniform, complete with shield and sword with a black eagle flying resplendent on a flag he held aloft. At his feet (and this is where it gets truly epic and awesome) knelt Russia, Austria, England and Switzerland. Hungary flung herself into his arms and declared her undying love whilst his brother, West, gazed at him with admiration – no doubt instead of his usual look of disgust and incredulity. "Oh Gilbert, my hero! You saved the day!" West was saying. Instead of "Mein Gott, look at the mess you made. Get those stains out of that rug!" To top the whole dream off, the people of the world were demanding resurrection of the awesome Nation of Prussia – consisting of most of the lands west of Moscow spanning to the east of Vienna together with large slices of the south of England.

"Kesese!" would be the cry around Europe as the great Nation of Prussia rose again...

Abruptly this dream was brought to an end.

"Chirrup chirrup."

"Gilbird dude!" Gilbert sat up and listened intently as the small bird perched on his finger and told its tale – much like Lassie in 'Lassie comes home'.

"Really, dude? Awesome! Little Sealand? Interesting... bwahahaha, another innocent led astray...ha! I did it and I wasn't even there! I gotta get me out of this crapsack place," Gilbert exclaimed and just as he 'broke out' of Russia's house so many years before he did just that. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your viewpoint, this 'breakout' did not precipitate a nationwide manhunt by twenty divisions of the Red Army. Also Prussia did not have any spray paint with which to deface the walls with 'Prussia Roolz' and there was no 'big fat commie bastard' chasing him with a piece of bathroom plumbing just to add to the drama. In fact there was no motorbike to steal either. Just Prussia in his hospital issue stripy pyjamas and still wearing a neck brace wandering up and down outside the hospital entrance looking for a vehicle to steal.

"Fuck this man, I'm the awesome Prussia, I ain't gonna catch no un-awesome taxi," Prussia declared. He couldn't anyway, he had no money. So, promptly, because he was the most awesome entity on the planet and he was getting cold (his Prussian balls were turning a delicate Prussian blue), he stole the first vehicle he found with its keys still in the ignition – a large white van.

At first, he'd hoped it was an ambulance and looked for the switch with which to turn on the blue flashing lights. There was none. Unbeknownst to the Awesome Prussia he'd stolen a 'Sanitary Hygiene Disposal' van, a vehicle used in the disposal of bedpans and other soiled items. Un-awesome. He sped off, unaware that his awesome meter had dropped dramatically. Gilbird had tried to warn him but he was too focussed on getting back to Austria's house so that he could watch his plan come to fruition.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion<p>

The 'ball' was in full swing. Actually all the Nations – well those who weren't in hospital, at the vets or at the Police Station that is, were jumping up and down to the rock music that America had put on the 'gramophone'. That's when a white van pulled up. It was not the one driven by Prussia (who was still un-awesomely negotiating Vienna's city streets with a map stuck to the driver's wheel while Gilbird cheeped in his ear). Several large men dressed in white coats jumped out, one carrying a straitjacket.

A tall, serious looking man knocked on the door.

Romano answered it, with a huge grin plastered on his face, "Ciao! You are here for the potato... I mean the patient?"

"Are you the person who telephoned?"

"Si. He is upstairs. He won't go without a fight. I hope you have brought a straitjacket? He really needs lots of help."

"You say he thinks he's a..." here the man checked his notes, "... an Empire?"

"Si, he thinks he's the Holy Roman Empire... and Germany..." Romano asserted. "Up the stairs, second on the left, ignore the silly Italian with him."

The man nodded to his assistants and they ran up the stairs. "Are you next of kin?" he asked Romano.

"Why?" Romano asked, suspicious.

"Only a next of kin can have someone committed."

"Then, si, I am, where do I sign?" Romano took the man's pen and signed Holy Rome/Germany's fate away.

"Those bastards lied to me! I was the great Holy Roman Empire. I ruled lands and kingdoms. Get your hands off me! Austria and France will pay for this." Germany was obviously not best pleased with the way things had turned out. He had a sheet wrapped around his shoulders – in lieu of a cape and had told his fellow Nations (who all ignored him) that he was 'going to put them all under his control'. His usual dignity and forbearance was blown to the wind as he was carried out, head first, trussed up in a straitjacket. Italy walked along at the side of him, shaking his head.

"Ve, it will be okay, Ludwig. These nice people will calm you down."

"Does he think he's Napoleon?" the psychiatrist asked Italy.

"No. He does not like Napoleon."

"He thinks he's who?"

"The Holy Roman Empire, ve."

"The Roman Empire?" the psychiatrist asked, making notes on his clipboard as Germany, hair and eyes wild, thrashing wildly was manhandled into the back of the van.

"No, that's Grandpa Rome," Italy said.

The doctor narrowed his eyes and wondered whether this small Italian who seemed unable to open his eyes should also be committed.

They (the Psychiatric Ward at Vienna Hospital) had received a call from a foul-mouthed Italian-sounding individual who had told them "Get here now, the potato bastard's lost it and he's going to start a war with the piano bastard and the garlic bastard. He thinks he's an Empire... which is stupid obviously, dammit. We're people not Nations. I mean who would think that? He's going to make my pasta bastard brother join him in an Empire and I need your help."

When Dr Welltenstein (for he was the psychiatrist who'd taken the call and arrived at the mansion – specialising in personality disorders) and his helpers arrived at the mansion, they'd found a very strange bunch of people. A man dressed in a frilly pink ballgown shouting at another dozen or so people to do the 'Timewarp'. There was a man dressed in a jedi costume dancing with a woman scantily dressed as Princess Leia. A man garbed in wizard's robes was being chased by a wild-eyed platinum-blond haired woman brandishing a knife yelling "Marry me, England!" One man with vertical blond hair brandishing a large axe in one hand and a bottle of Carlsberg in the other was attempting to tango with a man dressed as a matador. A young boy in a sailor costume was arguing with a serious-looking tall man (the only person who looked sober) about smoking. It was obviously a fancy dress party gone wrong. And Dr Welltenstein seriously thought about committing the lot of them to the psychiatric ward for tests.

As the white van sped away, Romano laughed evilly to himself. If only the doctor had taken them all, he thought. But then who could he annoy and swear at?

Just as all those present linked hands and sang "It's just a jump to the left... And a step to the right... Put your hands on your hips...You bring your knees in tight...But it's the pelvic thrust..."(at this point, the author would like to censor this bit as the images were too horrific for a T-rated story). "That really drives you insane... Let's do the timewarp again..."

Just as the Nations were getting into the dance (some were a couple of moves behind the others), Belarus took the needle off the record with a screech. Everyone 'aaahed', Denmark and Spain kept dancing.

"I have an announcement to make," she said, "Arthur and I are..."

And then the lights went out and simultaneously there was a large crack of thunder. Lightning forked and lit up the room. America jumped into Belgium's arms, "Aaargh!" the hero screamed. Belgium promptly dropped him.

"Fool, it's just a blackout and a thunderstorm," Arthur told him.

The front door burst open and a tall shadowy figure stood outlined in the doorway. Lightning flashed behind the hooded and cloaked figure. Red eyes gleamed and there was a flash of sharp, white teeth.

"Good evening, my friends," came a rich, fruity Eastern European accent and the lightning flashed again in response.

The assembled nations, one principality, one human and one ghost all screamed as the entity seemed to float into the room on a cloud of malevolent mist...

To be continued...

**Author's notes:**

**Mon ange – my angel in French**

**Lassie comes home – the Lassie films usually contained the premise of Lassie (a rough collie dog) who saved someone by running back to their owner, barking and then leading said owner back to the scene of the accident.**

**The Timewarp – a song from The Rocky Horror Picture Show – with a popular dance where you do the actions along with the lyrics – very funny. I could just imagine all the nations (drunk) in a circle doing this dance.**

**Next Chapter – a dramatic rescue, fish, axe-wielding maniacs, blood and gore, floral curtains, Austria cries and if we have time a tap-dancing Russia**


	29. Firework

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: DragoncatKHfan, Hanhula, Athesia, Allidiah, Amdeloa, GoodnessCoconuts, VengefulCat, Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Warnings: crack, silliness, fluff, tap-dancing Russia, long chapter - apologies**

Chapter 29 - Firework

Vienna, Austria

After the screams had died away (although America's carried on and on... 'It's a vampire!' he yelled). Norway threw himself into the mystery person's arms, "Romania!" he shouted with utter delight.

"Yes, it is I!" the now non-mystery man said, in a very heavy East European accent.

England stepped forward, "Bloody hell, man. You did that on purpose. You deliberately sounded like Bela Lugosi!"

"I'm Bela!" said Belarus.

"Hahaha, I fooled you all!" Romania said, swishing his cape around, hugging Norway with one arm.

"Dude, he's creepy," America whispered to England.

Romania grinned at America, showing large white fangs...

America screamed again.

... which Romania then took out – revealing that they were luminous false Halloween fangs. "Hahaha!" Romania laughed again, this time revealing just the one fang.

"I don't like him, Arty!"

"Oh Alfred, you're such a bloody pansy, he wears false teeth and I bet he wears red contacts."

"How did you do that with the lightning and the power-cut?" Someone asked Romania.

"I didn't. I'm magical, but not that magical," Romania answered.

The lights were still out and the 'malevolent mist' that had followed Romania in was still lurking. No-one took any notice of this. Denmark and Spain who were still dancing in darkness round and round the ballroom – one head-banging moronically with a bottle of beer, the other tangoing obliviously. All the other Nations decided to go to bed.

Bela (Belarus that is, not Bela Lugosi) threw England over her shoulder in a fireman's lift and went up the stairs to their bedroom – perhaps to carry on where they left off, who knows, England wasn't complaining. Certainly, attempting to re-establish the British Empire with Belarus was far more fun than dealing with a scared America.

Belgium turned to America and asked seductively, "Are you coming up to bed, Alfie?" (It's unsure when she started to call him by this nickname.)

America practically ran up the stairs with her, "Can I hide under the duvet with you? I don't like blackouts..." the thunder clapped again, "... or thunderstorms. Usually Arthur reads me boring stories about dead people..."

"... They're history books!" came the shout from England and Belarus' room, closely followed by a "Oooh Arthur you're soooo manly." And then, "Am I really? Oh yes of course I am."

* * *

><p>It was Adelaide who raised the alarm. She and Canada were kissing passionately at the foot of the stairs, Canada whispering sweet nothings in a French accent (not for nothing had he spent some of his youth with France) when fireworks exploded. Some rockets found their way through the cellar doors and exploded in the kitchen shattering windows.<p>

Sealand's discarded cigarette was no longer just smouldering, after burning through Prussia's porn stash and Jane Austen novels, it had ignited the fireworks and then the fuse-box had caught fire – hence the black-out.

Adelaide stepped away from Canada, "Wow!" she exclaimed.

"I know," Canada said.

"No. I mean it's hot!"

"Thanks," Canada said and then, "Oh," as he realised that the mist was actually smoke.

"Fire! Fire! Everyone out!" Adelaide shouted.

Norway and Romania, still kissing in the doorway, were shoved outside by Romano (the only helpful thing he did that day, it is to be wondered if he saved the 'vampire bastard' and the 'troll bastards' lives because he wanted to get out).

"Everyone out, the house is on fire," Canada shouted.

"No shit, Captain Obvious," Romano grumbled, unhelpfully.

America, who'd just got comfortable under a duvet with Belgium, jumped up, his hair on end, "Did someone say vampire?"

"No, fire," said Belgium.

"Oh, okay," he settled back down then realised, as if on satellite link, jumped up, picked up Belgium and ran down the stairs and dumped her outside.

"Hey, bro," he said to Canada, "Who else is in there?"

"Sweden, Finland, Sealand...no wait..." he said as Sealand came sliding down the banister with Sweden and Finland after him.

"I told you smoking was bad..."

"It's not my fault!"

Denmark picked up an oblivious Spain and ran out, "Yo, I saved my bro Tony. Get in! The King will save you."

"Elvis is here?" Spain asked.

"He is? Dude! Rock out!" America yelled, oblivious to the fact that Elvis had been dead some years.

"Greece is in there... and England and Belarus and Pol and Liet and... oh Mr Kumajiro!" Canada said to America.

"You get your dog, I'll get the others," America yelled at his brother – which was unnecessary as he was stood next to him (Canada that is, not the 'dog').

"My hero," Belgium sighed.

"I am!" Denmark said.

"Not you, you fool," Norway said batting him around the head.

The two North American Nations ran back into the building. The smoke was quite thick now and flames were starting to lick around the door to the kitchen.

"Kumajiro, Mr Greece!"

"Are you looking for your bear, Mr Canada?" Greece emerged sleepily from the conference room/dining room where, until now, he'd been asleep, holding the polar bear cub in his arms.

"Dude, I'm here to rescue you," America yelled – again unnecessarily – and scooped up Greece, gave the bear cub to Canada and they stumbled out, coughing.

Flames were starting to lick the Austria's kitchen now, totally obliterating all evidence of France and Denmark's unexpected night of passion.

"Belarus, Arty!"

"Pol and Liet!"

However, a truly awesome spectacle came through the doorway, panting and coughing. Poland, in a now blackened ballgown, wearing high heels no less, his mascara streaked, was carrying Lithuania in his arms.

"Pol! You're my hero," Lithuania said as Poland set him down.

"Yah, I am and like, I saved Latty-kin's new novel! Ooooh noooo!"

"What?"

"I, like, broke a nail."

Romano shook his head, "Gay," he muttered.

"What?" Poland said in (for a man dressed in a once-pink dress and high heels) a dangerous tone.

"Errr, I mean hey!"

"That's it, I saved them all," America yelled.

"What about Britain and Belarus?" Canada said in between coughs.

"Arty! I'm coming to get you!" America yelled and burst in through the door.

The fire had now spread through the hallway and was licking around the edges of the staircase. The smoke was so thick that America could barely see.

"Arty!" he yelled, "I'm coming to rescue you!"

It's a matter of opinion whether 'Arty' needed rescuing. Certainly if Ivan had been in England's position – laid under a lacy-basque and suspenders-clad Belarus – he would. However, England was not of that opinion. "Oh bloody hell. That sodding idiot! Sod off, Alfred!" England yelled back.

America burst in through the bedroom door, took in the scene quickly, raised an eyebrow – this was certainly new – he never realised England had bilateral relations with Belarus. America picked up Belarus – who promptly thumped him. He just as promptly dropped her. "There's a fire, Arty, you need to get your pants on!" He yelled at England (he was doing a lot of yelling and bursting through doors, but then again he was the hero).

Obviously wearing pants is conducive to a good rescue. Arthur jumped up and did pull up his pants. He peered out the door and saw the flames and stuck his head back in. "We're stuck!"

"We can jump out of the window," America said and opened the sash window, "We're only one floor up."

"Who are you? Superman?" England said.

America quite liked this, "I'll go first and then you throw Bela and I'll catch her and then you jump."

"You're a moron, you won't catch me," England said.

"Trust me," America said.

"We obviously have no choice," England sighed.

America didn't wait for the reply and jumped out of the window. Thankfully he did land okay and stood looking up at them, cockily giving the thumbs up.

"Jammy bastard," England said.

"Nobody throws me!" Belarus said as she tried to cover her modesty, trying desperately to locate her clothes.

"We don't have time for that!" England said, for once all masterful and, in a fit of decisiveness, ripped the curtains from the window, wrapped her in them and set her on the windowsill.

"Oh, Arthur! I love you!" Belarus said, loving the drama of it all.

England shook his head and gave her a gentle push.

"Wooohooo!" America yelled as he caught the Belorussian. "See! I am a hero!"

The smoke was coming thick and black now and England's chest was heaving.

"Trust me, Arthur, just jump!"

"You'd better catch me you blithering idiot!" England said, now sat on the windowsill looking down into darkness.

"I will! You can count on me!"

"Ooooh here goes..." and England let himself fall into blackness.

"Dude Alfie! You've got to stop them! They're trying to use my beer to put out the fire!" Denmark shouted as he ran up to Amercia.

America turned at just the wrong moment and England fell on top of him.

"Dude Den! I'm fmmffmmm, busy." America said, under a very angry English gentleman.

"You sodding, bloody, stupid idiot! I knew you wouldn't catch me! You..."

"I broke your fall!" America shouted back.

"Yes, he did. You should be grateful that you have such a good brother!" Belarus butted in.

"You keep out of this..."

"He's not my brother!" America yelled.

"Never mind that, what about my beer?" Denmark was hopping from foot to foot, a real emergency was unfolding as Sweden, Finland, Lithuania, Canada and Adelaide were purloining his crates of Carlsberg from the other side of the mansion and trying to put out the fire. It wasn't working, as Romano, watching, ironically smoking a cigarette, pointed out.

Spain and Greece were sat on the lawn. Greece had only just caught on to the events.

"Has something happened?" Greece asked Spain.

"Si, Senor Austria's house burnt down," Spain answered.

"Seriously?"

"Si."

"Seriously?"

"Si."

"My rum!" England suddenly realised.

There was an explosion from one of the bedrooms.

"Mr Russia's vodka!" Lithuania said, "Oh no, that's not good."

Indeed, it probably wasn't, Russia's 80 proof vodka had exploded on contact with the fire.

At that point, a white van pulled up at the front of the mansion.

"The Fire Brigade?" someone said, unnecessarily. As no-one had had the sense (even Lithuania or Adelaide who, it could be argued, were the only sane and normal people present) to telephone the emergency services.

"It's the awesome me!" Prussia yelled as he jumped out of the van, still in a neck-brace and still in hospital-issue stripy pyjamas.

"Sanitary hygiene? You got a new job? Cleaning bedpans in your jimjams?" Romano asked.

Prussia ignored him. He was ecstatic, his plans had come to fruition.

The fire was really gaining momentum now and everyone had to move back, away from the house.

"Has anyone phoned the fire brigade?" asked Lithuania.

"Derrrrr," came the collective reply.

* * *

><p>Victoria, Seychelles<p>

In a small beachfront cottage on what should have been Iceland and Lily's most romantic evening of their lives – the start of their married life, the night Icy had fervently hoped for and planned for, the night they would consummate their union, they were sat in the living room with Estonia and Ukraine listening to Seychelles' presentation on tuna fishing.

This was Seychelles' revenge. She was rarely invited to world meetings and so was now giving a four hour presentation on her country's fishing industry. It was long past midnight and her 'audience' were getting drunker by the minute.

And she was only one hour into it and Icy was drunk and slowly ripping up sheets of paper that Seychelles had given them to make notes on. He should have been in the bedroom with Lily now he thought, kissing and touching...

"Grrrr," Icy let out a very un-Icelandic, but very Viking growl.

Lily was rapt with attention, being far too polite to tell Seychelles to hurry up.

Estonia was quiet. Although he was bored he was secretly pleased about the turn of events as Ukraine, whilst knitting baby bootees, kept blowing kisses at him.

He was torn, for a start he was attracted to Ukraine but images of a kolkolling Russia chasing him with bathroom plumbing made him flinch. Ukraine's 'tracts of land' also overwhelmed him somewhat.

"Erm about the tuna exports? You say Russia is one of the countries you export to?" Estonia asked Seychelles.

Seychelles smiled, someone had actually asked a question. So she went back to the beginning. Actually Estonia was playing for time.

Iceland, his latent Viking mode starting to boil, downed another beer and was about to erupt when he saw Lily's sweet face as she gently shook her head at him. So he banged his head in despair on the table.

Ukraine, not stupid by any means, had figured out Estonia's 'game', 'I can wait all night,' she thought. Then she mouthed at him, "You will be mine."

Estonia panicked, "I have an important telephone call to make," he said.

The phone at Austria's mansion rang several times and Estonia almost hung up.

"Who is it, dammit?"

"It's Estonia, is Lithuania there?"

Romano was stood in the shambles that was once Austria's centuries-old mansion, firemen traipsing backwards and forwards with hosepipes, water everywhere, Nations running to and fro attempting to salvage what they could, and he was loving it. Bloody piano bastard, he thought, served him right for not rescuing him from Spain back in the 15th Century.

"Has anything happened over there?" Estonia asked, concerned as he heard the following snippets of shouting.

"The rum is all gone!"

"My lightsabre!"

"It was broken anyway!"

"My beer, my poor lovely beer!"

"I bet all your Jane Austen novels and that embroidery you were doing is gone, Mr Prussia."

"Shut up, kid, the awesome me does not do embroidery."

"Nah, everyone's fine," Romano grinned and shouted, "Mr Lithuania, telephone!"

Lithuania, who had been trying to aid Poland in his rescue of his smoke and sodden make-up, said, "Oh please, please don't let it be the boss... the vodka... oh no... who is it, Romano?"

"Its computer bastard," Romano answered, unable to think of any other insulting name for Estonia.

"Who?"

"Estonia," Romano was disappointed that Lithuania didn't understand who he meant and handed the receiver to him.

"Toris, I need your advice. Are you busy?" Estonia asked quietly, lest anyone should hear him, "I'm in the Seychelles with Katya."

"You lucky bastard!" Lithuania shouted and then said much quieter, "You lucky sod..." as people stopped and looked at him. There he was, stood in the ruins of Austria's mansion having spent much of the night stuck in a stable with these idiots while firemen attempted to put out the blaze.

"Well, yes... but I think she wants to go to bed with me."

"You lucky bugger!" Really, Lithuania thought, this is getting worse.

"Yes, but, erm, how do you unhook a bra? I don't want to appear like an amateur."

"You're just winding me up now, aren't you?" Lithuania really did not think this was funny. He was looking at spending the rest of what remained of the night helping Poland find his sodden lipsticks, hopefully salvaging some of Russia's vodka – he dreaded the consequences if none were retrievable – all whilst dressed in one of Russia's tuxedos, which was now stinking of smoke.

"Please, Toris. I've never undone a bra before."

"Really?"

"Well, I've never... not with a woman..."

"You're a virgin!" Toris almost shouted.

Several firemen stopped and stared, someone 'kesesed', Romano sniggered.

"Well, not technically. I mean you know... there's been others... I was close to Den for a bit and then... erm I lived with Berwald...and I've been busy you know... with business..."

"You've only been with men?" Toris did shout this.

Estonia winced, knowing that Toris was far more a man of the world than he was, even if he did have a gay best friend (Toris that is, although Estonia's best friend – Finland – could also be counted as gay).

Toris shook his head and, in as low a voice as he could, gave very precise instructions on the mechanical complexities of a woman's brassiere.

"Do you have any, you know, advice?" Estonia whispered.

"I'm sure Miss Ukraine will take care of everything," Toris said with alarming authority.

* * *

><p>Next Morning - Seychelles<p>

And Miss Ukraine did take care of everything. Seychelles had finally left – close to dawn, promising a presentation on guano the next evening.

Icy, the ardent newly-wed husband had passed out on the couch, Lily had lovingly covered him with a blanket.

Estonia, courage rising after his frank talk with Toris, decided to act all manly and, to Ukraine's delight, picked her up and strode purposely into the bedroom, threw her on the bed and ... apologised profusely. These apologies were promptly cut off by Katya's kisses.

"Oh, Katya!" Estonia sighed.

There was a loud 'twang' as Katya's bra was flung off by its owner – to Estonia's utter relief (and delight).

* * *

><p>Veterinary Surgery, Vienna<p>

Delight was also the word that described Russia's mood when he awoke that morning. Finding Aija still snuggled up to him was, in itself was a miracle and Russia smiled devilishly. He gently kissed the top of her head and then eased her gently onto her back. He'd thought of a way to wake her up the 'Braginski way'. He manoeuvred himself so that he was cradling her in his arms still, taking the weight of his body on his elbows and smiled as she muttered something incoherently. She shuffled and then woke with a start – looking straight into Russia's deep purple gaze.

"Oooh, Vanya, I mean er... Mr Russia..."

"Privet, Aija," he whispered, thinking to himself, 'bloody hell, she's still calling me that bloody name'.

He kissed her again, this time on the lips, his body pressed against hers.

"We shouldn't, I mean, I..." Aija said as she came up for air.

There was a loud coughing behind them. Dr Pumplenicklestein's grand-daughter raised an eyebrow.

"Grandfather said there was a wolf down here with its owner," she said.

Russia growled, very wolf-like, but rolled off Latvia reluctantly.

Latvia hurriedly straightened her clothes, although Ivan hadn't actually got around to disturbing them, "Er yes, your grandfather was very kind," she said as she crawled out of the dog-run.

"Thank you, yes he is very kind," the woman said, smiling.

"I suppose we'd better leave," Latvia said and gestured to Russia to get a move on.

Russia adjusted his clothing (he had to – just don't ask), sighing heavily, crawled after Latvia, located his bloodied coat and put it on.

Instead of waiting for Toris and Feliks to pick them up as arranged, the two Nations went for a stroll around the city. Neither felt that they wanted to go straight back to Austria's mansion and back to being Nations, neither wanted the day to end. Russia, in particular, felt as if he were playing truant. So they walked hand-in-hand around Vienna's parks, stopped off at a small cafe and ate breakfast, or in Russia's case (as he'd grumbled he'd hardly eaten anything since arriving at Roderich's house) two breakfasts.

Then they strolled through Vienna Zoo, ate ice-creams – really it was too cold for such things, but both felt ridiculously childish, and watched the animals. Likening the monkeys in particular to various people they both knew.

"That small cheeky one scratching its balls looks like Prussia!"

"That one hitting that bigger one looks like England!"

"That one doing... oh... is it giving that one a piggy-back ride?"

"No, Vanya, I don't think it is."

"It looks like France, whatever it's doing."

They talked about their mutual countries, Latvia careful not to mention independence. They talked about the house in Leningrad and funny things that had happened whilst Latvia had lived there – the day they found Boris, the day they thought there was a ghost, the time they were all snowed in and, more recently the day Russia found she was a girl. Russia stopped at this point and gathered her in his arms in a huge bear hug.

"I love you, Aija!" he purred in her ear, he just wanted to tell her, simple as that.

Aija gasped for air and said, "I love you too, Vanya."

Russia grinned happily and tap-danced around in a mad five-minute Fred Astaire moment, tip-tapping round and round a small ice-cream vendor's stall. He stopped with a dramatic slide on the slippery ground stopping just short of Aija, pulled her into his arms and waltzed around with her to imaginary music. A few of the Viennese families out for a winters' day at the zoo, actually clapped.

Aija laughed, as she was spun around in his arms, one hand on his shoulder, her other hand engulfed in his much larger one. Who would have thought that Russia could tap-dance or waltz? Actually, she thought, he's quite good. But probably Red Army issue boots weren't the best footwear for dancing in.

Finally, they sat for a while on a bench, just happily holding hands and watching families walk past. Both lost in thought.

But all good things have to come to an end and they had to get back to Austria's mansion and work. Russia moaned when Latvia told him they should get back and dragged on her hand a bit like a big kid, "But we haven't seen the bears, Aija!" he said.

She shook her head, "We can't do this, Vanya," she said.

"Well we could come back tomorrow, I suppose," he said.

"No, I mean this, " she said waving her hand around. "We can't be together. We can't be a couple. You're a Nation and I'm a Nation and your country is occupying mine. One day Latvia will be independent and... oh, this is too complicated," she said, her heart aching.

"But you're making it complicated," Russia said.

"No, you're making it too simple. We have obligations. And what about Toris and Eduard. Oh God, what will they say?"

"I don't care," Russia said simply, he didn't, he never did care what people thought of him.

"I know, but I do," she said just as simply.

"But... I'm not going back..." he said suddenly and then grabbed her in his arms again and said desperately, "We could run away together..." Russia was clutching at straws and was seriously adding up the money in his pocket and wondered how far it would get them. He thought of catching a plane to anywhere and hiding, starting a new life. He could get a job as a... security guard? Labourer? Nightclub bouncer? He would do anything, he decided, to keep them together and they would live in a little house and have lots of babies...

Latvia shattered this dream, "We have to go back," she said, although it broke her heart to say it. "If we don't, they'll come after you. You know that." 'They' obviously meaning the Soviet officials, the dreaded secret police.

Russia growled, thinking he would take them all on if he had to.

But Latvia was already heading out of the zoo, ignoring the shrieks from a very rude monkey waving its genitals at her ('Prussia', she thought absent-mindedly) and hailed a cab.

Russia, still grumbling, shambled after her. They sat in the back of the cab and anyone would have thought they were going to a funeral. Aija rested her head on Russia's shoulder and they held hands. 'At least we had Vienna,' she thought.

Russia's thoughts were more practical, 'I'll wait,' he thought, 'she'll come back to me, she already has'.

**Author's notes:**

**Bela Lugosi – a famous actor in the old black and white films who played Dracula.**

**'The King' – a nickname for Elvis Presley**

**Tuna fishing is one of the main industries in the Seychelles (along with vanilla and... guano which is basically seabird shit) and the Soviet Union had a trade agreement with the Seychelles for a long time and was one of their biggest consumers of tuna.**

**When Estonia says he was 'with Den' he means the Duchy of Estonia which was under the direct dominion of the King of Denmark from 1219 to 1346. Also when he says he lived with Sweden, this refers to Estonia being a dominion of Sweden from 1561 to 1721. Hurrah for the independent republic of Estonia!**

**Fred Astaire – a very famous dancer in films from the 1930s/40s/50s – famous for his tap-dancing sequences**

**Quick question – for all those of you who've come this far – what job do you reckon Russia could do in the real world? I just came up with some on the spot (i.e. jobs that involved hitting people or manual labour - i.e. because he's really strong).**

**Yes, I know Romania x Norway? crack pairing, but then this whole story has been crack pairings.**

**Next Chapter – Should be the last one unless complete silliness takes over (apart from fluffy epilogues). Reunions, reconciliations, departures, visitations, someone leaves forever, decisions are made ...**


	30. Homecoming

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: PJTL156, DragoncatKHfan, Hanhula, Athesia, Allidiah, Amdeloa, GoodnessCoconuts, VengefulCat, Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**As always thank you to all those who have PM'd me, gave me words of encouragement, and generally kept me going through this long saga. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it (sob... I'm going to miss it).**

**Warnings: Too many really, Prussia and Romano, swearing France (because he deserves a warning all of his own). Smut, sexual innuendo (as always – come on guys do we really need this, you know me by now?)**

Chapter 30 - Homecoming

Two cabs and one police car pulled up at the same time outside Austria's mansion. One cab containing a morose-looking Russia with a lip-trembling Latvia, the other cab containing Austria, his arm in a cast with a determined-looking Hungary, whilst the Police car contained France, who was promptly kicked out and the car sped off.

"Au revoir then, mes petits amoureux!" France shouted after the car, "We will meet again, I am sure! Zay lurve me..." he sighed to himself, ignoring the fact that the car had left skidmarks on the driveway.

The extravagant Frenchman then turned back and then stepped back dramatically in shock at the sight that greeted him.

Austria's once beautiful centuries-old mansion that had stood against wars, battles, sieges and Prussia, was now a shambles. The roof was largely missing, most of the windows were burnt out and the fire had taken out the whole west wing.

Austria just stared and gibbered in shock, "My ... my ... beautiful home..." he then sank to his knees and sobbed.

Hungary was just as shocked, however, she knelt down next to her ex-husband and held him in her arms, "Oh Roddy, I'm so sorry," and then she added, "Well, now you'll have to redecorate."

Sweden, Finland and Sealand decided that now was a good time to go, particularly as Prussia with his huge mouth said, "Kesese, it was the kid's fault," and pointed at Sealand. (He was still annoyed at Sealand revealing to all and sundry his secret hobby for reading Jane Austen novels and doing embroidery.) However, Prussia hit the nail in his own proverbial coffin by saying, "It was a shit house anyway, I mean all those dead guys on the walls, oh and that piano you bash out fucking Mozart on is a dead goner."

Hungary promptly let go of Austria, walked up to Prussia and punched him hard on the nose.

"Right, time to go," Sweden said, grabbing Sealand who was dragging on his 'Dad's' hand – he wanted to watch the fight.

"My money's on Miss Hungary," the boy said.

"And you, come on," Sweden pointed at Denmark.

"Aw, dude!"

Sweden ignored them, halted one of the cabs from driving off and unceremoniously shoved Denmark and Sealand into the back. Finland followed, whilst Sweden jumped in the front.

"Sorry..." Finland mouthed at the heart-broken Austria, as the cab drove off.

"I'm free...!" Norway gleefully punched the air, "Well, for six months at least," he added, knowing that once the six months was over 'custody' of Denmark would once again be handed back to him.

"Well you can come and stay with me in Transylvania," Romania purred.

"Oooh yes," Norway said, "I'll just get my things... oh, I don't have any things..."

"Transylvania, did you hear that, Arty? I tell you he's a real vampire," America whispered to England.

"And you're a real idiot," England snapped. His back was killing him, having fallen on America the previous night in the American Idiot's rescue of him, had put him in a very bad mood, coupled with the fact that his favourite wand and cloak were gone did not help.

Russia and Latvia were stood watching these proceedings, holding hands behind Russia's back. Russia with his mouth in big 'o', gazing around him in disbelief, "This had nothing to do with me," he said.

Lithuania took a deep breath when he saw his boss and decided to take his life in his hands. He mustered up all his courage, remembered the days of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, saw that Latvia was stood next to Russia – which may actually be a good thing, she might calm the big guy, and strode up to him, "Sir," he began and faltered. Latvia jumped away from Russia hurriedly (her right hand had been clasped in his left one behind his back and then he'd let go, reached round and pinched her bottom).

Russia frowned at the loss of contact with his beloved 'sunflower' and said to Lithuania, "Why are you wearing my tux?"

"Well, there was a party last night."

"Was it fancy dress?" Latvia asked when she saw Poland dressed in a blackened ball-gown.

"Well, no," Lithuania sighed, "Erm, Sir, your vodka..."

"What about it?" Russia suddenly turned his attention away from the sight of his sister wrapped in floral curtains hugging a bad-tempered England back to Lithuania. "Has something happened to it?"

Poland sashayed up, "Are you, like, kidding us man? Have you seen the house? Nothing survived... not your vodka, not Mr Austria's piano..."

There was renewed wailing from a still prostrate Austria (not prostate – that would be very weird).

"... not my make-up..."

"My vodka is gone?" Russia's voice was usually quite high and child-like – on purpose so that he didn't intimidate someone too much, it was when his voice went into a low baritone growl that meant he was truly angry. His voice was now very deep, "Who destroyed my vodka?" He then began kolkolling, everyone backed away nervously.

"The fire, dude, I mean honestly. But I saved your novel, Latty dear."

"Which one?" 'Latty' asked.

"Your new one, the one about..." and here Poland very indiscreetly nodded and winked and gestured at Russia.

Latvia blushed, "Oh."

"New one?" Russia frowned, his anger over the vodka suddenly forgotten, easily distracted as he was.

"Yes set in the War," Poland started to explain whilst Latvia shook her head frantically at him, "Love and Bullets it's called. Crummy title, sorry dearie, but so romantic."

Russia promptly snatched the sheaf of papers from the Pole.

Latvia tried desperately to grab it back, "Nooooo, don't read it," she cried. It contained a very graphic sex scene set in the forest of Riga in World War 2 between a Latvian sniper and a Russian officer...

Poland shrugged as Russia held the manuscript up out of the girl's reach.

"Page 62 is good," Poland winked lasciviously.

Latvia tried desperately to reach the sheaf of papers held above Russia's head. He grinned at her and took himself off while she lambasted Poland.

"Why did you do that? Oh no..."

"Funny." The Pole said simply.

Lithuania was beyond caring, as long as Russia was distracted from the loss of his vodka and didn't try to remove his head (Lithuania's head that is, not Russia's - even Russia can't remove his own head) then all was well. Toris went off to telephone for a taxi, it was time, he thought, to go home before any more trouble was caused.

* * *

><p>Gerald floated over to his master, "I'm free! I'm no longer shackled to this hell. The house has burnt down so I don't have to stay with you for eternity."<p>

This was actually the best news Austria had had all day.

"My haunting days are over!" Gerald said in his droning voice.

"You were rubbish anyway," Hungary snorted.

"I scared Italy."

"Everything scares Italy, even Sealand scares Italy. You were the worst excuse of a ghost I've ever met, just go and leave us, Gerald. Adelaide and I will take care of Mr Edelstein from now on."

"You will, Lizzy?" Austria looked at her with big, sad, amethyst eyes.

"Actually, erm about that..." Adelaide ventured, as her 6 x grandfather without further ado and with the ultimate monotony that had marked his afterlife dissipated for the last time. Nobody noticed.

"You're leaving my employ?" Austria asked, appalled.

"Well, yes."

"She's coming to work for me," Canada said, "As my maid."

"Honhonhon, I taught him well, mon cher," France smirked.

"You don't get any severance pay," Austria said hurriedly.

"I realise that. I don't want any," Adelaide was just pleased to be leaving this mad mansion and her mad, mean, Mozart-playing employer.

"Oh okay, then," Austria walked up to Canada and shook hands with him, "Take care of her," he said suddenly and then, for him, with rather a lot of affection, "she's been a good employee."

"Oh I will," Canada answered. He took Adelaide's hand and they went to get her meagre belongings.

"Well, he will certainly have to learn how to handle his staff. You shouldn't really go around holding hands with the servants. It's just not on. You wouldn't find me holding hands with the gardener would you?"

Hungary shook her head, honestly wondering how naive her ex-husband was, "Come on, dear, let's get you home."

"But that's the problem isn't it, Lizzy? I don't bloody have a home. These morons destroyed it."

"My home."

"Oooooh, Lizzy, does this mean that we're..."

"Come on, we'll see... I suppose... Oh Roddy..." She took his arm and led him into the ruins of his house to see what they could salvage.

Spain appeared from where he'd been attempting to explain to Greece the events of the night (this constituted the following conversation: 'Really?' 'Si', 'Seriously', 'Si', 'A fire?' 'Si.' 'Seriously?' 'Si.') and spotted Austria, "Roddy! I've decided I was mad to leave you! We should reform the Habsburg-Bourbon Empire!"

"He's mine!" Hungary said possessively, "Go and start an empire with someone else."

Spain, who had rekindled his love for Austria – mainly after reading Latvia's novels, wasn't about to give up, "But we could have babies together!"

"You're both men! You idiot! Whoever heard of a man having a baby! Get real, Antonio. Go and bother Romano," Hungary said, pulling Austria after her.

* * *

><p>Romano heard this, "Dammit, I'm not living with the tomato bastard again, I'm off to get my pasta-loving fratello and I'm outa here."<p>

"Isn't he still with Germany at the hospital?" someone asked.

"Si, I think so. I will rescue him from potato bastard."

"Awesome dude, I'm coming with you, I need to get my clothes. You can have a ride in my van," Prussia said, ignoring the fact that it wasn't technically his vehicle. Although in Prussian eyes, seeing as how he had driven it awesomely and it had been in his awesome possession for a number of hours, it now belonged to him. It just needed a paint job he decided.

"I'm not going in that," Romano said gesturing at the van with disgust.

"Fine, catch a cab," Prussia shrugged, "This vehicle is still awesome – because it's driven by the awesome me!" he said, and for someone wearing hospital-issue jim-jams with a neck-brace on was a singularly remarkable thing to say.

Romano thought about this and the fact that he had no money decided the issue. He jumped into the passenger seat of the van. Prussia found some sunglasses in the glove compartment, put them on and said, "It's ten blocks to the hospital, we've got an empty tank of gas, a full pack of cigarettes, it's mid-day and I'm wearing sunglasses."

"Do I have to say it?" Romano said without enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes you do."

"Oh, okay. Hit it!" Romano said, "Wait! An empty tank of gas?"

The sanitary hygiene van skidded off down the driveway, almost running over Spain in the process and made its awesome journey back to the hospital.

"Man! I love this van!" Prussia exclaimed.

* * *

><p>The joy was short-lived however as the two Nations – both the most argumentative people who ever lived, period, argued the whole ten blocks to the hospital.<p>

"You're not that awesome."

"I bloody well am awesome. I far more awesome than you. You wouldn't find me being stuck with a Spanish pedo for centuries, eating pizza and moaning, wearing a dress."

"Well at least I'm still a country – unlike you, you're just the left-overs from a very un-awesome country that lost a war to that vodka bastard."

"You're only the bottom half of a country."

"The best part."

"I'm the personification of everybody and everything that's awesome and what are you? The bottom half of a totally un-awesome country of people who can't drive, who think they're great with women, surrender at the sound of an English accent and wet their pants at the sound of 'Privet'?" (Prussia said the word 'privet' in a weird high-pitched squeak.)

"The personification of everybody who dresses in shit pyjamas with a gay brother who starts wars and then loses them?"

This argument continued all the way to the hospital, with a stop-off on the way at the gas station to fill the tank (Prussia bought a packet of cigarettes, a bag of wine gums and beer, he ignored Romano's pleas to buy him jelly-babies "Un-cool, man." "And wine gums are cool?" "Yes, shut it.")

* * *

><p>At Vienna Airport, the Nordics were finally leaving. Although they had left chaos in their wake, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, Sweden thought. Certainly, it hadn't been Denmark's fault the house had gone up in flames. And they didn't have any armed guards escorting them out of the country as had happened before at world meetings. The last meeting at France's place had resulted in them being kicked out of the country by the French Security Services and told never to set foot in the country again (France had remonstrated about this – "But I lurve zem, zay are mes amies!").<p>

So, followed by a gang of children who still insisted on calling Denmark 'Bad Santa' (how on earth had that spread?) the three Nordic nations with Sealand – who was still grumbling ('I told you it wasn't my fault' 'Shut up, Peter, you're grounded.') boarded the plane back to Helsinki.

As Denmark settled into his seat with a bottle of beer, grinning leeringly at a pretty air stewardess, Finland said to him, "And I hope you behaved yourself in that hospital and we don't have any erm ..." he tried to find the right words, especially as Sealand was listening in the next seat, "surprise visits or packages arriving in nine months' time."

"You're going to have to be more specific," Denmark said.

Sweden batted him around the head, "Fool," he said.

"He means he hopes you didn't get any girl up the duff," Peter explained to the Dane.

"Can't guarantee that." Denmark gave his trademark wink and settled down with his beer.

* * *

><p>Norway and Romania were also boarding a plane – to Romania. "You need some R and R, Erik," Romania said.<p>

Norway wasn't going to argue with that, let Sweden and Finland take care of Denmark for a bit. Let them try stopping that idiot Dane from rampaging through embassies on ride-on lawnmowers, crashing through shopping centres on snow-blowers, announcing to all and sundry – and sometimes the scary nations who were most likely to take offence (Germany, Russia and England) that he was the King of Northern Europe and that he would pillage their countryside and ravish their women.

"I'm going on holiday!" Norway thought, bought himself some shorts, sunglasses, sun-cream and boarded the plane to Bucharest (ignoring the fact that it was just as cold there as in his own country that time of year).

* * *

><p>In the psychiatric ward, Vienna Hospital<p>

Italy had spent the whole night trying to hold Germany's hand. Which was largely impossible as the said hand was stuffed inside a straitjacket. The German had not stopped ranting since being admitted six hours previously.

"It's okay, ve, Germany, we'll always be together."

"They lied to me! Those bastards! Austria and France and... my bruder! He is not my older bruder! I'm the Holy Roman Empire and they will all bow down to me!"

This statement – in varying permutations had been all he'd said since being strapped to the hospital bed. The doctors had attempted to sedate him, however, the tough German blood had rejected it and the attempts had just made him more frenzied.

"Hey little bruder!" Prussia shouted as he entered the ward. One good thing was that Prussia had found his clothes and was now looking more like his usual awesome self. However, the sight of his 'younger bruder' in a straitjacket stopped him in his tracks. Nobody had told him what had transpired the previous evening.

"Aaargh!" he screamed as Germany with superhuman strength rivalling that of Russia, tore himself from his bonds and lunged at Prussia.

"You lied to me! You're not my older bruder! I'm Holy Rome!" Germany said as he tried to grab him.

"They said it was better that way." Prussia argued.

"Who did?" Germany asked.

"Austria and France. When the Empire fell. Bruder, it was for your own good. The Empire was dead and instead of letting you die... you were reborn..."

"I lived with France for a time and he... he called me..." here Germany shuddered at the memories, "little Luddy..."

"Aw, that's so sweet," Italy said.

"Hahahahahahaha," Romano almost choked and had to prop himself up.

"... I feel so unmanly... so ... so... un-German."

"You'll always be manly to me, Germany," Italy said, drawing the distraught German into a hug.

"Yeah, dude, I mean you'll always be awesome. After all you're my older brother. Man, even your farts are manly," Prussia said and joined Italy in hugging his older brother.

Germany had finally found himself – and love. (Sob)

Romano laughed, "Hahaha you are all so gay," he said.

They all turned to look at him.

"I ruined the moment," he said.

* * *

><p>Seychelles<p>

Icy had finally 'come round' and found Lily watching him with a gentle smile on her face. "Oh no, I passed out!" he said. How embarrassing was this, he couldn't call himself a Viking at all after this. No Viking worth his salt, or worth his beer come to that, would ever pass out from drinking.

Lily smiled at him, "Never mind, we can always you know... there's no-one about."

Indeed, there wasn't - Estonia and Ukraine were on the beach sunbathing, holding hands.

Iceland picked Lily up and strode masterly into their bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and started to divest himself of his shirt.

"Ooooh Icy," she breathed.

"Ooooh Lily," he answered and began undoing the buttons of her blouse and ran his hands down her body, he gently kissed her on the lips, "I'll be gentle, I promise," he whispered.

"Get off my sister!" came a yell.

There, stood in the doorway was the stuff of nightmares. Switzerland, still clad in pink stripy pyjamas bearing the legend 'property of Vienna Hospital' on them, one hand clasping a crutch, one leg in plaster, his other hand holding a rifle which was now pointed at Iceland.

"Noooooooooo!" Iceland and Lily both screamed.

* * *

><p>Back at Vienna Airport, a very fragrant Frenchman together with the remains of his beloved 'Louis' (his Louis Vuitton suitcase) sashayed through the Austrian security wearing a maid's outfit. It has to be asked why on earth was Francis wearing a maid's outfit? Well, as his normal clothes were still at the hospital and he'd been arrested in pyjamas, the only clothes he could borrow were a spare set of Adelaide's maid outfit. Actually, this was untrue, he could have borrowed something belonging to Canada, or even America – as they had a few pairs of jeans that he could wear, however, those he decided were not fitting for the nation of l'amour. ('You bloody pervert,' England had yelled at him, much to Francis' delight. 'I missed you too, l'Angleterre and one day you will be mine,' Francis had answered. Belarus had tightened her grip on Arthur.)<p>

"Please step this way, Sir, er Madam, er..." a security guard asked him.

"Oh, are you going to strip-search me?" France asked hopefully.

"Well erm, I'm not sure..."

"Honhonhon, perhaps you should, non?"

And so, for the second time in twenty-four hours, France had his credentials taken down by Austrian officials – much to his delight.

"I love zis country!" he yelled enthusiastically, "You can use handcuffs you know, mon cher."

There followed very noisy 'happenings' in the interview room (France being anything other than quiet when it came to l'amour).

Thirty minutes later found France sat on the flight to Paris, smiling happily, drinking finest Champagne and toasting himself, his host country and plotting a way to get l'Angleterre away from that 'awful Belorussian woman'. She was obviously no good for him, France thought, she would never give him the love that France could give him. Er yeah.

* * *

><p>Also at the airport was America and Belgium. He'd caught a cab with her and was all prepared to do a very dramatic and emotional goodbye as she boarded at the plane back to Brussels (wherever that was) – just like in the movies. And then she would come running back to him saying "Oooh Alfred, I love you..." and he would leap over the security barriers and gather her in his arms and say, "You will always be mine, Louise." And then he would get down on one knee and say "Will you marry me?" and all the people in the airport would clap and cheer – just like in that movie that he couldn't remember the name of but he'd fallen asleep by the end and had found Arty snuffling in a tissue and drinking rum.<p>

However, it didn't quite work out that way. Belgium bought herself some chocolate, gave him a peck on the cheek, said happily, "See you around then, Alfie, it's been fun. Look me up." And with that, she went through the gate to her plane.

America waited patiently for her to come running back. And waited and waited. A security guard moved him on, which never happened in the movies. Heroes should never be told that they're 'causing a blockage in the queue'.

America came down to earth with a resounding bump, so real life wasn't like the movies. Arthur had lied to him! (Actually, Arthur was forever telling him that stuff that happened in movies did not happen in real life, but America conveniently forgot that.) So, with slumped shoulders he set off for the airport's MacDonalds. At least there was the prospect of a happy meal – and hopefully with some awesome toys.

Meanwhile, on the flight to Brussels, Belgium was relaxing, drinking wine and thinking about America. Had she been right to just say goodbye? He was nice, dreamy in fact. 'Nice body,' she thought. However, too immature for her, she decided. 'And it would never last,' she also thought. And then a thought did hit her – like a ton of bricks. 'Oh no,' she thought, 'we didn't use... we never... I'm not...' She suddenly put down her wine glass, picked through her bag until she found her diary, noted some dates and let out a muted scream, "Aaargh, oh no..."

She carefully poured the rest of her wine back into the bottle, just to be safe, and thought 'well, let's wait and see'.

* * *

><p>Austria's Mansion, Lithuania had telephoned for a taxi to take him, Poland, Latvia and Russia to the airport to catch the flight back to Leningrad. Poland insisted on coming back with them, 'Like, I need to know how the story ends, Liet,' he'd said, much to Lithuania's confusion. However, Latvia and Russia were nowhere to be found.<p>

Where on earth were they?

**Author's Notes: Yes, this was supposed to be the last chapter, however, there are so many loose endings to tie up and so many Nations to sort out an ending for, it would have been too long a chappie. So next chapter will be the end. (or will it?)**

**'up the duff' is an English euphemism meaning to get a girl pregnant**

**Bucharest – capital of Romania. Also Erik being Norway's human name – not sure about this, some have listed it as Emil, some as Erik, apologies if wrong.**

**"It's ten blocks to the hospital, we've got an empty tank of gas, a full pack of cigarettes, it's mid-day and I'm wearing sunglasses" – another quote used and abused from the brilliant film, The Blues Brothers.**

**PS Did anyone notice I used (apart from Winter Nights which I switched with Summer Nights) song titles for my chapter titles (you can now tell what rubbish I listen to on my ipod) – a big warm cyber-hug from Russia himself if you spotted that.**


	31. I'm No Angel

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: WinterLake25, PJTL156, renabug97, DragoncatKHfan, Hanhula, Athesia, Allidiah, Amdeloa, GoodnessCoconuts, VengefulCat, Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell. If I've missed anyone out – humblest apologies.**

**A big thank you in particular to all those who've PM'd me, gave me words of encouragement, and generally kept me going through this long saga. This last chapter is dedicated to all of you...**

**Warnings: Fluff, het, yaoi, sexual innuendo (come on, guys, all the usual), swearing**

Chapter 31 – I'm No Angel

Latvia, Latty-kins, Raivis or Aija (the last name only Russia called her and actually made her knees go like jelly) was searching the grounds of Austria's mansion looking for Russia. 'Please, please,' she thought, 'let me get to him before he reads that novel'. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. 'I'm going to kill Pol.' she thought. Where the hell was he? How on earth can you lose someone the size of Russia – well not the landmass, but... she skidded over the water in the mansion's hallway and looked through the devastated downstairs rooms.

Austria and Hungary were coming down what remained of the stairs with a case between them followed by a distraught Spain.

"We could still be together!" Spain was pleading.

"It's over, it was over in 1740!" Austria said.

"Come on, Roddy, you're coming to live with me in Budapest, I'll take care of you." Hungary said, gripping his good arm.

Latvia shook her head, wondering what all that was about.

"Have any of you seen Russia?" she asked, hopefully.

All three stopped. Austria and Spain glanced around fearfully.

"Are you having a laugh?" Hungary said, "If I see him I'll hit him again with ... with..." she stopped as she no longer had a frying pan with her. "Big bloody idiot, look what he did to my Roddy."

"Riiiiiight, okay..." Latvia said and was about to try somewhere else.

Hungary stopped her and took her to one side, ignoring Austria and Spain who were now arguing vehemently:

"I miss your music."

"You never said that when we lived together, it was always Mozart is rubbish and get off that piano, Roddy and why can't you play something more up-tempo?"

"Yes but now I realise how romantic you were."

"Well it's too late now. You're two hundred years too late."

"You never loved me, it was all politics."

"Oh Spain, honestly, it was arranged between our leaders, we had no choice. We were happy for a while."

"I was happy and then you married _her_. You never loved me."

"I did love you, Antonio..."

"But you loved Switzy more didn't you?"

Hungary shook her head ignoring the wailing from her ex-husband and _his _ex-husband, "Be careful, Latvia. I'm sure you think Mr Russia is lovely and cute..." Hungary started to say.

Latvia shook her head. She had never viewed Russia as 'lovely and cute'. "No... but..." she started to say.

"...But he's very dangerous..."

Latvia nodded and was about to say, "...but..."

"... and you're only young. He can be very charming when he wants to be..."

Latvia nodded, "...but..."

"... and... well, between you and me he's very good in bed..." Hungary whispered this bit, keeping an eye on Austria as she said it.

Latvia almost choked at this.

"... but he can be a complete bastard and he'll never let you go..." Hungary carried on, ignoring Latvia's blushes.

"... and he'll say he loves you but then you have to run for it or you'll never leave..."

"... but Miss Hungary..."

"... and he'll never let you leave..."

"...oh... but..."

"Don't tell anyone I told you this," Hungary said suddenly, her face very serious.

"I won't, I promise."

"If you ever need anywhere to run to, you know where I am," Hungary said and then squeezed the younger Nation's hand.

"Erm, thank you, but..."

"Right, come on, Roddy you old man, let's get going," Hungary said, she grabbed Austria, pulled him away from his exchange with Spain, actually it was more a case of 'where their marriage had gone wrong' and, winking at Latvia, dragged the older Nation out of the door.

Spain sat down dejectedly at the bottom of the stairs.

Latvia sat down next to him, still reeling from Hungary's revelation.

"A word of advice, little Latvia," Spain said to her sadly.

"What's that, Mr Spain?"

"Be careful who you fall in love with," Spain said wisely.

"It's too late now," Latvia answered, her chin in her hands.

* * *

><p>As Austria and Hungary left the mansion, Poland sashayed past, "Have you two seen Braginski?" he asked.<p>

"No, we haven't but when I do see him I'm going to hit him very hard," Hungary said.

"Thank you, Lizzy. This," Austria said waving his good arm around at the ruins of his mansion, "is all thanks to him. If he hadn't hit me, I would have been here and I could have rung the fire brigade and put this fire out."

"Right, okay, Roddy-kins sweetie. Here's a few facts for you... First, you're an arse. Second, Mozart was Austrian, Bach and Beethoven were German. Okay? German, not Austrian. Chopin... Chopin was Polish. Comprende? Third, even if Braginski hadn't hit you, I would have. So suck it up and get insurance." With this, Poland swished into the mansion yelling at the top of his voice, "Latty darling! Braginski!"

Latvia jumped up, "Bye, Mr Spain, don't tell them I was here..." and she fled. She wanted to find Russia.

Thankfully, Poland got a heel caught in a floorboard crack and gave into some very unladylike swearing.

Latvia ran out the back door and into Belarus and England, who were climbing into the taxi that Lithuania had rung for in the previous chapter (although of course they didn't know that – or the fact that they were in a story). Belarus stopped dead and went up to Latvia.

"Hmm, so you're a woman now and you've stolen big brother's heart?"

"Well..."

"You'd better look after him. If you hurt him, I will come after you..." Belarus gave an intimation of what would happen if Latvia 'hurt' Russia. Unfortunately, her knives were only blackened in the fire and she held one threateningly.

"Well... look..."

"No, you look... and when you have children, I will be godmother and you will name the first child after me."

"Suppose it's a boy?" Latvia said, how bizarre was this woman?

"Hmmm, are you trying to be funny?"

"Bela, come on," England shouted at her, "We have to go, the London flight leaves in an hour."

"London?" Latvia asked. 'Thank God', she thought, 'but it's not quite far enough away'.

"Yes, I'm going to see Big Ben!"

Latvia tried very, very hard not to laugh.

"You think I'm funny?" Belarus asked dangerously.

"Bela, get in this taxi now..." England said masterfully and then added hurriedly, "...erm dear?"

"Oooh Arthur, you're so masterful!"

"Yes, yes I am," England exchanged looks with Latvia – the latter sniggering.

"You will not take those knives with you. And, if you are staying with me you will bloody well behave!" England told Belarus in his sternest voice.

Latvia winced and waited for England to be diced up into small chunks.

Bela giggled. Yes, she actually giggled. She then dropped her knives, flung her arms around England and said, "Oh Arthur, I love it when you're angry!"

Latvia's mouth was stuck in one big 'O'. How was England not dead? She couldn't understand how he wasn't lying on the floor in a pool of blood with several knives stuck in him.

England pushed Belarus into a taxi, turned to Latvia and winked, and then said to the taxi driver, "Take us to Vienna Airport and be quick!" in his most 'masterful' voice, the one he used when he was trying to stop Francis from getting in his pants.

All Latvia could do was watch in awe. Just as the taxi door shut she heard Belarus say, "Oooh, Arthur, if I'm naughty, will you spank me?"

Could this day get any weirder? Thinking that she was in some weird movie or deranged story, Latvia continued her search. She finally came to the horse stable.

* * *

><p>Russia had actually been in the stable the whole time. He had got himself comfortable on a stack of hay and had started reading the novel. It had taken him ages to read through the manuscript and, because he couldn't quite believe what he'd read, had gone through it again – and not just 'Page 62', but also pages 100, 101 and 102. His eyes had been opened. He'd never read a romance novel before – all his reading had been restricted to Russian writers such as Tolstoy, Dostoyesvsky, Checkhov, Pushkin and military history, so the sex scene written by Lucinda Lovelace actually made him blush.<p>

He recognised himself in the scene on page 62 set in the Riga Forest and was quite pleased that she'd actually enjoyed it as much as he had. (Russia didn't realise that sex scenes in romance novels were never written realistically nor were they ever of 'bad' sex.) Actually, he hoped it was him that she'd written about, if not, how many tall Russian officers did she sleep with in that War? However, he was also embarrassed and hoped, naively, that no-one else would read it – it was bad enough, he thought, that Poland had read it.

Pages 100-102 seemed to be about an imaginary reconciliation between the hero and the heroine after being separated. Russia couldn't understand the plot very well and also couldn't quite work out how they'd managed to have such prolonged and passionate sex in what was essentially the middle of a battlefield. Little Latvia, he thought, was not nearly as innocent as she made out.

He was interrupted in his musings, by a little polite cough, "Erm Sir?"

Russia jumped up, blushing madly at the interruption and then saw who it was, "Oooh, Aija," he breathed and then without further ado, pulled her into a warm embrace.

"Please tell me you didn't read that novel?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

Russia couldn't quite get the words out, "The Ivan in the book, is it me?" he asked, hopefully.

Aija pulled away slightly and looked up into his eyes, "Who did you think it was?" she said timidly.

Russia grinned happily, nuzzled her hair and then suddenly scooped her up into his arms and carried her behind some bales of hay.

He laid her down carefully and lowered himself on top of her. 'Oh God oh God oh God' she thought.

"Let's see, page 100... Ivan pulled her into a long embrace, kissed her deeply and started to unbutton her tunic..." he read out, holding the manuscript with one hand, his other hand propping himself up, keeping most of his weight off her.

"We shouldn't really do this... we..." Latvia was cut off by Russia's lips on hers.

He broke away, "You're thinking too much... don't think..." he whispered as he started to unbutton her blouse.

Latvia's head was spinning (not literally of course) and she felt dizzy, Hungary's warnings were echoing through her brain, but she gazed into Russia's deep violet eyes and, did what Ukraine would have advised, 'went with her heart'. She took the manuscript from him, tossed it aside and then pulled him down into a deeper kiss.

"We can re-write page 100..." she murmured into his scarf and then looked up at him shyly.

"Hmmm hmmm," Russia 'answered', he then looked up and smiled, "I quite like it as it is..." he grinned devilishly.

"Oh ... ooooooh..." she blushed as she remembered what she'd written.

* * *

><p>"We shouldn't really do this, Pol." Lithuania was remonstrating.<p>

"Yes, we can, like, who's going to know?" Poland answered.

"Well Austria for one, when he redecorates."

"He won't miss these, Liet."

"It's stealing."

"He's going to claim on the insurance. So really we're just giving them a new home."

"Pol..."

"We're going to need the money when we're independent and you're finally free of Braginski."

Lithuania sighed and watched while his friend rolled up the canvases and shoved them in his suitcase.

"See! I only took half a dozen."

"We don't know if they're worth anything."

"Of course they are. He hid these – Rod always hides his most valuable stuff when he gets visitors."

"Exactly, so he will miss them."

"He'll just think they were burnt in the fire. Please, Liet. I'm doing it for us and our future."

Lithuania shook his head, he was essentially an honest person, who was surrounded by people who were not honest. Poland he knew, although his best friend, occasional lover and soul-mate, was not the most scrupulous person in the world. But then, Lithuania had to concede that Poland had taken more kicks that most other people and still came up smiling.

"Well... I'm not comfortable with this."

"Liet, like, you know nothing about this. There's no way you could have stopped me. There. Feel better?" Poland said and fastened up his suitcase, smoothed down his blond hair and then took out his compact and checked his make-up.

Lithuania shook his head. "I wonder where Mr Russia is? And Latvia, for that matter?" Lithuania said, changing the subject.

Poland smiled, "Who knows, but..." he then looked Lithuania up and down. Actually, he thought, Liet looked gorgeous with a capital 'G' in that tux. Those eyes, he thought, no-one has more beautiful eyes than his best friend and lover. "We have time to... you know..."

"What? Find them? I bet Latvia's sulking somewhere – typical teenager and Russia will have found some unexploded vodka bottles and passed out somewhere."

"No, I meant time for me and you to..." Poland raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, he stuck his hands on his hips provocatively and indicated the library. There was still a largely un-burnt couch in there that would do, he thought.

Lithuania blushed, "Oh Pol!"

Poland smiled, finally, he thought. He stepped forward, took Lithuania in his arms and kissed him, "I've missed you, Liet. Like, how long has it been?"

"A year? I don't know," Lithuania kissed him back.

"Too long, then," Poland said and then picked up his lover bridal style and carried him through into the library.

'Liet' laughed, Poland never failed to make him laugh. Everyone assumed as it was Poland who wore girl's clothes, wore make-up, acted feminine that he was the one who was 'bottom', they couldn't be more wrong, Lithuania thought. Although, actually Poland could very lazy, as he was now. The Pole almost tripped over his dress, dropped Toris on the couch and said, "Oooh, my back is aching... Toris... can you... you know, like, take it from here?"

Liet smiled, pulled his lover onto his knee and kissed him, "Of course I will," he said.

* * *

><p>"And so he never really loved me... not as much as he did Switzerland anyway. Then he married her. I miss his music. I miss his baking. I miss his cakes. And his kisses always tasted of chocolate."<p>

"Seriously?"

"Si."

"Chocolate?"

"Si."

"Who is this again?"

"Roderich. Austria..."

"Seriously?"

"Si."

This exchange was between Spain and Greece. The former telling the latter – who was, for once awake (but only just) about his 'marriage' to Austria, the break-down of said 'marriage' and his recent attempts at a reconciliation. They were on a plane, the air hostess had served them various quantities of churros, paella and lots of ouzo. The two Nations, both leaning right back in their seats, their heads almost touching, were deep in conversation. Or should one say, Spain was doing most of the talking – in his slow rhythmic speech, whilst Greece occasionally asked a one-word question.

"I wanted to have babies with him."

"Seriously?"

"Si."

The flight was now almost over and the plane was starting its descent to the city below.

"Madrid has changed since I left."

"Madrid?"

"Si."

"Hmmm. Antonio?"

"Si?"

"This is Athens."

"Que?"

"Athens."

"That does look like the Parthenon."

"Vαι."

"I got on the flight to Athens?"

"Vαι."

Spain started to rummage through his trouser pockets, very slowly. "I do not have any money..."

"You can stay with me, Antonio."

"Oh gracias, Herakles."

"Is okay."

"I will ring Juan Carlos, he will send money."

"Is okay, you can stay with me, Antonio, I will show you lots of scenery in Greece. It will be good."

The author is unsure how much of Greece Herakles shows Antonio or how long Antonio stays with Herakles, but the two Nations took a taxi to Herakles' villa in the hills overlooking Athens and spent an idyllic week with Greece's cats, visiting the 'sights'.

* * *

><p>Awkward (after nearly forty years both were actually shy with one another, and Aija had to be gently persuaded to take her arms from around her chest), energetic (Ivan's combat training with the Spetsnaz certainly paid off), exhausting (half-way through Aija had to call a halt to the proceedings to catch her breath – not something that usually crops up in the usual love scenes in romance novels), funny (Ivan found Aija's ticklish spot and was merciless), uncomfortable (Aija found straw in some unusual places, as did Ivan), and mind-blowing. These were all the adjectives 'Lucinda Lovelace' would have used if and when she ever re-wrote 'page 100'.<p>

They were now wrapped up in Ivan's winter coat, a tangle of limbs, sweating and panting.

"That was bloody great!" Ivan said.

Aija was too breathless to answer, she just snuggled down against his chest and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Did you think it was good?" he asked her, slightly worried.

All she could do was nod and cuddled up to him, letting the fuzzy warmth flow over her until... she suddenly sat up, then hurriedly pulled the coat around her breasts.

"Oh no!" she gasped.

"Eh? Wut?" Russia said, disappointed, he was seriously thinking about having a breather and starting again.

"Oh God!"

"Wut?"

"Vanya!" she exclaimed and thumped him on the arm, "You didn't use a condom!"

"Oooh, you are not on the Pill, nyet?"

"Noooooo," Aija wailed and flung herself back down in the hay. 'Ohgodohgod, what have I done?' she thought frantically.

"Oooooh... well okay, never mind..." Ivan pulled her back into his arms, "It will be okay," he said simply and happily.

To Russia's disappointment, she jumped up and began pulling on her clothes. "It might not be okay..."

* * *

><p>Vienna Airport<p>

The four Nations – Poland and Lithuania (the former holding his suitcase tight to his chest protectively), Russia and Latvia (the latter, when nobody was looking, picking straw out of her hair) caught the late afternoon flight back to Leningrad.

It was a better return flight for Lithuania than the one he'd arrived on. This time he didn't have tons of shopping to carry, the flight was free of screaming children and no-one tried to steal his window seat. He sat back, happy. Russia had emerged from Lord knows where, sporting the biggest grin Lithuania had ever seen on his boss's face. He suspected that perhaps Russia had stolen something from Austria, killed someone or got one over on someone. Latvia was strangely quiet and had barely said a word since suddenly turning up ten minutes after Russia, apologising, saying she'd been chatting to Spain and that she'd waved off England and Belarus (none of these were lies).

Poland couldn't stop giggling and kept linking hands with Lithuania whenever he had the chance.

Unusually, Russia didn't fall asleep on the flight, he was sat in the aisle seat as before, with Latvia, as before. This time, it was Latvia who had fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. While he sat reading Poland's 'women' magazines – 'Marie Claire' and 'Cosmo'.

* * *

><p>Leningrad, Russia<p>

It was always nice to return home after a meeting, Lithuania thought as the taxi pulled up outside the house. He unlocked the door to a heap of mail, sorted through it, two envelopes for 'Lucinda Lovelace' which he handed, wordlessly, to Latvia, one for himself, about a dozen addressed to Eduard Von Bock, Director, which Lithuania quietly put behind the teapot for when Estonia finally arrived home after his holiday with Ukraine, and an ominous one addressed to Gen. I. Braginski in red ink.

Latvia, who had barely said two words, just stumbled over the threshold and blearily went to make coffee and feed Boris, who was purring in pleasure at his owners' return.

Poland threw his suitcase down in the hallway and said, "Well, I'll grace you all with my presence for a few more days, darlings and then I have to be off."

And then there was a huge yell, a smash as a lead pipe hit a mirror (the nearest thing to the yeller) and a kolkolkol.

'Oh no!' Lithuania thought as he emptied Boris' litter tray.

Russia's visa card bill had arrived – the red one (the previous one – still unpaid – was lounging in Estonia's back pocket in the Seychelles) and the company was threatening to cancel his card.

"Fucking hell, IKEA! I never ordered anything from IKEA! Thousands of pounds of incremental damage! What the bloody hell! I've never been in an IKEA! My Little Pony rug? Lilac paint? Glitter disco ball? Barbie beanbag?" Russia's voice echoed throughout the mansion.

And then, suddenly, realisation dawned... He slammed down the stairs to his basement, his bomb shelter, his hideout and found... a lilac homosexual nightmare. It looked very much like a 9 year old girl's dream bedroom.

"Poland!" Russia's voice bounced off the walls, the windows shook and Boris leapt into Latvia's arms.

"Gotta go..." Poland suddenly scooped up his suitcase and was out of the door faster than a speeding bullet (or almost).

Latvia trembled and buried her head in her letters. Lithuania shook his head, made tea, started a batch of cookie dough and took out the pills...

Life had returned to normal.

~The End~ (or is it?)

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: 1740 is the year of the start of the War of the Austrian Succession when France, Spain &amp; Prussia fought against Austria and its allies.<strong>

**Austria I reckon has a lot of exes – some of them still pining for him (and some of them not) – and I think in his own way he has loved them all.**

**HungaryxRussia? I know – it's possible, there's a lot of history there and I could imagine it not ending well – two very strong characters and I can imagine Hungary wanting to keep it quiet. I can also imagine Hungary having let's say 'been around the block' a few times.**

**Mozart was Austrian, Bach and Beethoven were German. Chopin was Polish. So suck it up and get insurance – thanks to Schmo703529 for this.**

**Pol x Liet – sooooo cute. In my head canon they're soul-mates, best friends, gay – but only for each other (I reckon Lithuania is a bit of dog with women secretly). My first attempt at a bit of yaoi.**

**Greece x Spain hints – who knows, but what a gorgeous couple.**

**Ναι - yes in Greek**

**Juan Carlos – King Juan Carlos of Spain**

**Spetsnaz – Russian Special Forces**

**Very last author's note: I wondered if you all noticed all the foreshadowing for a fluffy sequel. Open for suggestions/requests etc for plots and possible titles. Read and review, PM me etc.**


	32. Epilogue  Baby Love

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: chattie 98, WinterLake25, PJTL156, renabug97, DragoncatKHfan, Hanhula, Athesia, Allidiah, Amdeloa, GoodnessCoconuts, VengefulCat, Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.**

**Warnings: so much fluff and sugar you'll get cavities.**

Epilogue – Baby Love

4 or so years after the events at Austria's mansion

Another day, another meeting. This one was held at Austria's refurbished mansion. It had cost Austria's government and the governments of many of the delegates several million pounds to refurbish, redecorate, replace the roof and generally make the mansion habitable again. Austria had actually done quite well out of it and had finally, for the first time in 500 years, got central heating and electric lighting upstairs. Also the 'awful plumbing' as Hungary called it, had been sorted.

Why he was hosting this meeting after the events of the last one is unsure. Everyone had been surprised when the details of the venue had been announced, and when Hungary, (who was now residing in Austria's mansion with her ex-husband) insisted the Nations all bring certain 'extra delegates' they had decided not to argue.

In fact it had been Hungary who'd insisted on the conference being held at the mansion, against Austria's pleas. The reason being, quite simply, that a certain small person absolutely refused to be parted from their grand piano. This small person was not Austria, but they ruled the household with an imperious air.

"It's Manchester not Manchesterham you bloody fool, and it's not drank, it's drunk," England was shouting.

"Haha, I'm drunk!" Denmark said to no-one's surprise.

"I wish I was," someone said morosely.

"When you are all finished releasing sexual tension, we can carry on with zis meeting," France was saying.

"As the oldest nation here I am calling a halt to the meeting, aru."

"What?" America said, "Why?"

"Wut?" Russia asked and took his feet off the table.

"Because I want to see the little ones. I have not met them, yet, aru." China said simply.

* * *

><p>In the makeshift crèche downstairs in Austria's basement which had been totally refurbished into a child's playroom, all traces of Prussia's brief sojourn obliterated, there was chaos.<p>

The English nanny that England and Belarus had brought with them had long since fled and was now sat in a dark corner of the library drinking gin and shaking. "A shpoonful of sugar helpsh the medicine go down..." the poor lady was singing, her voice slurring.

Instead, Spain and Italy were acting as nannies, and they were loving it.

In the middle of a heap of beanbags was Spain, with a guitar, singing to a small crowd of children. Every so often they would all clap and sing, 'Viva espana!"

America scooped up one of the little girls who wriggled in his arms, "Daddy!" she squealed. She had long blond plaits and had her father's blue eyes. She wore a Supergirl t-shirt, was inexplicably carrying a red-coloured light-sabre with which she hit anyone who disagreed with her and had been coaxed down four times from a high bookshelf before she could practise her 'flying'. Diana Leia (named after Wonder Woman and Princess Leia respectively) struggled in her father's arms, "Don't like being picked up..." she said. You wouldn't find Wonder Woman being carried around she thought.

"My little girl," America said proudly to China.

"Hmm," China said, gently rubbing the young girl's hair as she dashed past.

China was already guessing whose child was whose.

"Can you guess which is mine?" England asked China.

China spotted the small, determined-looking platinum-blond haired girl sat apart from the other children. She wore a witch's hat, a dark cloak, had very vivid green eyes and, to England's utter joy, was making Lego bricks float.

China went up to her, "Hello... erm Victoria? That is your name, yes?"

Belarus nodded and picked her daughter up.

"Mama..." here Victoria came out with a bizarre mixture of broad cockney and Belorussian. No-one understood a word, even England struggled to understand his own daughter.

"No, Victoria sweetie, you know you can't have real knives, Papa says no," here Belarus nodded (with regret) at England (this issue had been a contentious one in the Bela-English household). She cuddled her daughter close and whispered something in her ear, which seemed to quieten the child.

The child came out with another stream of unintelligible cockney English and Belorussian.

"Da, Dmitri will play if you are nice..." Belarus said.

The child had, China thought, a very old look in her eyes, ageless and also, the old Nation thought, scary. He felt very sorry for Dmitri, whoever he was.

Denmark interrupted them, "Guess which one is mine?"

But a tall, long streak of energy whizzed past them, all wild, vertical blond hair, huge smile and a battered rubber axe. "Hahahahaha!" the child yelled.

"Dude Carl!" Denmark yelled.

"Dude Dad!" the child yelled back, skidded to a stop where he'd almost collided with Diana – who'd immediately tried to whack him. He spun back and jumped into his father's arms.

"I lost my hat and my boat but I'm going to get them back! It's war, Dad!" the child yelled, his voice resembling a foghorn.

"That's m'boy!" Denmark said proudly.

"Who are you at war with, young man?" England asked the child.

Carl (for that was the young boy's name) pointed to an ominous pile of cushions in the corner of the room – it looked like a make-shift fortress and there was a weird purple glow emanating from it. "Russkie dude," he said and drew himself up to his full height of 3 and a half feet, "I'm going to hit him. Dude Dad, will you help me?"

"Hahaha..." Denmark laughed and then added when he saw his son's eager face, "No."

"I bet Auntie Tino will help me."

"I'm not your auntie!" came a voice, "We are not Auntie Tino, Auntie Ber or Auntie Erik," the voice shouted from the kitchen. England guessed that it belonged to Finland.

"Denmark, stop encouraging him to call us aunties," Norway said.

"Hahaha, you're all such girlies." Denmark answered.

"You're a fool," Norway said, picking up his little niece, Maisie. Maisie cuddled her 'Uncle Norge' as she called him. "At least Maisie doesn't go around hitting people with axes and trying to drink beer." The Norwegian said, "You're a disgrace as a father, Mathias, and naming your child after an alcoholic beverage is just wrong on so many levels."

"I thought he was called Carl?" England said.

"Carlsberg!" Denmark yelled unnecessarily as England was stood next to him. The Dane held his son upside down and then set him on the floor, made sure the kid's hair was still vertical, before the small child dashed off.

"Oh dear... aru," China shook his head. Some people, he thought, should not reproduce.

"Awesome!" 'Carlsberg' said and ran off in a mad blur of energy to try and breach the 'Russkie' dude's citadel with his trusty axe.

China turned to the little platinum-blond haired girl in Norway's arms, "So this is Maisie?"

Lily was about to take her daughter from 'Uncle' Norge, but was beaten to it by Switzerland, "I'll take her from here. You have a rest, Lily."

"She's so sweet," China said.

"Yes, she is. Sweet and quiet and she shouldn't be mixing with these..." here, Switzerland glared around the room at the other children, "... horrors."

"They're just children, Vash," Lily said.

"Hmmmm, perhaps I should take her home, she looks tired."

"Well, Icy said..."

"Well, what does he know?"

"Well, he is her father..." Lily tried to say.

Vash humphed at this (he still didn't think 'Icy' was fit to be his beloved Lily's husband, never mind his beloved Maisie's father), rocking the small girl in his arms, "Come on, little Maisie, you're obviously exhausted, you come with your godfather, Uncle Vash."

Lily shook her head. Vash had been even more protective of Maisie than he had ever been with her, if that was at all possible. He had insisted on vetting the kindergarten teachers himself as well as the parents of any children Maisie played with. She'd been terrified when she'd found she was pregnant and thought Vash would kill Iceland, as it happened, he'd only wounded him and then his protectiveness had transferred itself onto their daughter. Never mind, she thought, they were never short of a babysitter. And Vash was the only one who could cope with her daughter's eruptive temper tantrums. Iceland and Liechtenstein's daughter looked very sweet, gentle and mild but when she didn't get her own way, it was frightening, and she erupted like an Icelandic volcano.

"And this must be... Amadeus?" China approached the baby grand piano that stood in the centre of the room. On it Chopin's piano concerto No. 1 was being perfectly played by a small, serious looking boy with dark messy hair and angry green eyes.

Denmark sniggered, "Haha, what a stupid name!"

Norway nudged him.

The boy looked up at the Nations and said very slowly and very clearly as if speaking to a bunch of three year olds, "Shut up and listen to the music or please leave!" Actually, only Italy was listening, on his knees next to the little boy (he had to kneel down so that he was level with the boy), his head in his hands, totally enrapt.

A small immaculately-dressed blond haired girl tugged at the Chinaman's trousers so that he had to bend down, "S'il vous plait, monsieur?"

"Ah, oui?" China said, "You are little Charlotte?"

"Oui, monsieur," the little girl said, beaming with bright blue eyes. She swished her long hair, which was dressed elaborately in red, white and blue ribbons and then, from nowhere, produced a perfect rose and handed it to him.

"Ah! So cute!" China beamed.

"Hmmm," England said, unsure about this.

The French girl then gave a rose to America, who also beamed, one to Denmark and Norway and then went up to England and tugged on his trouser leg.

"Monsieur Arthur!"

He bent down level to the little girl.

"Vous sentez une odeur!" she said in sweet lispy French.

All the assembled adult Nations "awwwed" at this, having no idea what she said, but it sounded cute.

England frowned, he knew, from experience, and the fact that Francis was watching with his hands clasped in fatherly pride, that the little girl had insulted him, but he had no idea what to say back. He couldn't get into an argument with a three and a half year old girl could he?

Thankfully, Victoria, his own sweet little daughter heard the exchange and launched herself at Charlotte.

"Do not insult my Papa!" she hissed, and in that moment, it was rather a good job about England's rule on knives.

Charlotte, so like her father, threw herself on the floor dramatically, "Aaaah! Je suis blesse!" and put her hand to her head, a single tear like a little dewdrop fell from her eye. She peered at her audience, like a consummate actress, to see the effect.

"Victoria!" Belarus snatched up her daughter, "You do not fight with little girls! She is only a small, delicate thing!" (Which seemed to indicate that it was quite alright to fight with boys.)

Francis scooped up his daughter, "Aah ma petite fille, petite lapin!" he said, smoothing her long blond hair and cooing gentle French phrases along the lines of "Zay are only English, leetle one, they are uncultured and they do not understand. We have to educate them, non?"

There followed a stream of rapid, incomprehensible French between father and daughter and then a hug as he set her back down.

"Who is her mother?" China asked the question everyone had wondered.

The child had just turned up on France's doorstep a year ago and had attended nearly every world meeting since. England had suggested that she was a clone, a product of a weird scientific experiment France had conducted. She was so much like her father – a 3 foot package of drama, hair-swishing, incoherent French with a penchant for climbing on any free lap and manoeuvring that person out of their valuables. Both Italies had lost several euros to the child (cold, cynical, super-troll Romano turning into a pile of goo when the small girl turned her puppy dog eyes on him). Even Germany was not immune and had lost several pens to the child. Russia had learnt several French lullabies from her and had given her a sunflower. Even Switzerland had given her pocket money. Only England was immune. England had decided that the child would be a professional pickpocket at best when she grew up, he didn't want to think of the alternatives.

"Ah, monsieur la Chine," France said, (China winced at the feminised version of his name) "I do not know, there are so many suspects..."

"Dear Lord," England said, tutting.

"Uncle Arthur... can you hold my bear for me while I go to the toilet?" a small voice said to England.

"Who said that?" America said.

"I'll take you, Suzie, come with me!" Diana grabbed her cousin by the hand and started dragging her to the door.

"My name's not Suzie! It's Susan!" the girl said. She was fed up of being bossed around by her cousin and, in many cases, being mistaken for her. Although Susan didn't wear superheroine costumes.

"Who was that?" America said.

"Canada's daughter."

"What?"

"Your niece, Susan."

"Eh?"

"Matthew and Adelaide's daughter, oh for heaven's sake Alfred. You and Louise babysat last week for them." England told him, whacking him smartly around the head.

"Ow! We did?"

"She is a very quiet child then?" China said as he watched the two blond-haired cousins, one dragging the other, go out of the door.

England smiled, unconsciously hugging the polar bear toy to his chest, "She's no trouble. You forget you've got her."

"Who?" America said.

China hit him, hard.

"Where is Russia's child?" China asked, "Did they have a daughter as well? There does seem to be a lot of girls...and all born within a couple of weeks of one another?"

Hungary stalked in and picked up her son, "Yes, they were all supposed to be girls..." she said, ignoring her child prodigy, who was yelling.

"Mama, I hadn't finished that last movement!" the boy protested.

"Well, you're going to go and have a movement. A bowel movement. And then you're going to have some lunch. You will not miss out on meals just so you can play on that damned piano like your father," she told the child. "Italy! Please take him to the kitchen and feed him."

Italy woke out of his reverie and happily took the still-complaining child, skipping (Italy was, not Amadeus) out of the room. It is doubtful whether Amadeus, who was so much like both his mother and father would ever skip anywhere.

"We were supposed to have girls. I'm not counting idiot Denmark or France of course... they're not women, so..."

Here, England harrumphed, in his eyes France had always been a big girl's blouse. Belarus had actually told him about the potion when they'd discovered she was pregnant (what a day that was...) but he'd barely believed it, now he did.

"But I don't know why I had a boy. Perhaps Austria is too manly to father a girl."

There was much snorting and giggling at this and Hungary turned and glared at Denmark and Norway.

"... and I don't think magic works on that big idiot Russia... I don't know what Latvia did, maybe she didn't drink enough...?"

"Erm, Miss Hungary?" a small hand tugged at Hungary's skirt.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"It's actually a fifty percent chance either way of a lady having a boy or a girl. And as there are..." here the child tapped some figures into the calculator which went everywhere with her, "eight children, five girls and three boys – that's..." here the child tapped some more figures into the calculator, pushed her glasses up her nose and added, "a ratio of 3 to 5, when it should be 4 to 4, but in natural circumstances with such a small population..." here the child began calculating again, "it would even out over time, with a more than 60 per cent chance that the next child will be a boy."

"Who on earth are you?" Hungary asked.

"She's Miss Ukraine's child," England answered.

Hungary looked at the small girl, "You're a very clever little girl," she said.

"Yes, I know." The girl answered.

"She's already enrolled at the top private school and is top of her class in the year above," England explained. He'd found since marrying Belarus he was more involved with her family than he'd liked. Having Russia as a brother-in-law and Ukraine as a sister-in-law was interesting.

"I never knew Katya was so... erm intelligent? Who does she take after? Who is her father?" Hungary asked the questions that quite a few of the Nations, including Russia, had already asked.

England shrugged, "I have no idea, don't ask me, I know nothing" he said as Belarus shook her head meaningfully at him, still holding on to their daughter.

"Mama! Dmitri won't play!" Victoria wailed to her mother.

Alexandra, for that was the child genius' name, went up to her cousin and said gravely, "You frighten him, Vicky, he's a boy and he's just fulfilling traditional gender roles."

"Good God! And I thought Amadeus was weird!" Hungary blurted out.

"Hmmm," England said. It was no wonder the child was the way she was, spending a month with her mother on the smallholding where she kept chickens and goats and a month in Russia's house being tutored by Estonia.

"What does she mean it will even out over time? And that the next child will be a boy?" Hungary asked and then she realised what the little girl had meant when Latvia walked in. She hadn't noticed the younger Nation's swollen stomach before as they'd all been sat around a conference table.

"Are you expecting again?" Hungary asked her.

Latvia stroked her stomach, "Well it's not just through lots of cookies," she answered ruefully.

"How far on?" Hungary asked.

"Six months," Latvia answered.

"Poor you," Hungary shook her head.

"Hmm, I'm going to kill Vanya..." Latvia said.

"Boy or girl?" Hungary asked.

"I'm hoping for a girl," Latvia said, as she eyed the cushion fortress in the corner with trepidation.

"It's like, totally going to be a girl, brilliant!" Poland interrupted, "then we can dress her in sweet little pink dresses and ribbons."

"You tried that with Dmitri," Latvia began.

"I know! Braginski's such a spoilsport. You should let kids be themselves, express themselves, be who they want to be," Poland said.

A large hand clamped on the Pole's shoulder, "Yes, but that does not mean my son should wear pink ribbons in his hair," Russia said in a 'don't argue' tone.

"Dmitri, come out and say hello..." Latvia called and then made her precarious way around the fortress. She shoved aside a wall of Lego and cushions and an upturned coffee table.

Inside the 'fortress', a tall (well, tall for his age) boy with violet eyes clutching a toy rifle was sat chewing his 'rations' – Lithuanian-made cookies. He had indeed 'captured' several of his fellow children's possessions – Carlsberg's hat and toy boat, Victoria's plastic wand and Diana's dressing-up cloak.

"Nyet!" the boy said and clutched his blue scarf – hand-knitted (by his father) with teddies on it – around his neck and blew out his pale chubby cheeks with exasperation. He would have to rebuild his stronghold again, and who knew how long this siege would last?

Latvia shook her head, removed the plastic rifle from him, and took his hand, "Out, now!" she said with as much authority as she could muster and tried to drag him out. She couldn't pick him up, notwithstanding being pregnant, he weighed a ton and was abnormally strong and now dug in his heels.

Dmitri shook his beige-blond curls, "Nyet, Mama," and muttered a weird mix of Latvian, Russian and Lithuanian in protest. When Dmitri decided he wasn't doing something, it was generally only his father who could shift him.

Latvia gave up, picked up the seized toys and made her way out of her son's hideaway to reconcile the other children with their plundered possessions.

"I'll, like, try. He'll come out for his Auntie Pol." Poland said as it appeared Russia didn't appear to want to admonish his son.

Russia thought it was funny that no-one could shift the child and his chest swelled with pride.

"Come on, sweetie, come with Auntie Pol..." Poland attempted, he wanted to prove that he could put one over on Russia "... if you don't come out... I'm going to..." here Poland thought desperately and whispered to the child, "... cut your hair!"

Dmitri's violet eyes widened in horror, clutched his scarf tighter around his neck, let out a huge wail and then proceeded to demolish the lego wall.

"You're just like your father," Poland exclaimed as the child, with abnormal strength, punched a small hole in the upturned table.

Russia took charge, shoved Poland out of the way and scooped his son up under his arm like a parcel and said, "That's enough, Dmitri."

"Papa..." the boy started to remonstrate in his strange mix of Russian/Latvian/Lithuanian language as his father carried him out of his 'fortress'.

Russia set the boy down and sank to his knees so he was level with him and said, "You should not scare smaller Nations, Dmitri Ivanovich Braginski. Mr Poland is a very small, very confused Nation."

"Hey!" Poland said, outraged.

As soon as Dmitri's feet touched the ground, Victoria flung herself at him and threw her arms around his neck. Although she barely came up to her cousin's shoulder she almost knocked him over, "шахта!" the small girl exclaimed triumphantly.

Dmitri's eyes filled with tears and he pulled away from his cousin's embrace. "отец волк!" he wailed in panic and lifted his arms to be picked up.

Russia sighed, understanding his son better than anyone, got up from his knees and picked him up. Dmitri buried his head in his father's scarf, wrapped his hands around Ivan's neck and snuffled.

China smiled, "He looks just like you, Vanya, when you were that age!" the Nation exclaimed happily, reminding everyone just how old he really was. "Soooo cute!" China added.

The other Nations stared at China as if he'd lost his mind.

Victoria, thwarted yet again – this time by her Uncle Vanya (sometimes it was Latvia, sometimes her father, another time Uncle Toris, only her mother was her ally), flounced off to practise her magic some more. 'One day,' she thought, 'he will be mine'. She didn't really understand why, but she was very possessive over her cousin and had decided that one day he would belong to her and her alone.

Latvia patted her son's head – so much like his father's (apart from the 'mad as a madman's arse' curls – Poland's words).

"I bloody hope this is a girl," she said and then stroked her expanding belly worriedly.

Russia smiled softly at her and pulled her, with his one free arm, into a loving bear hug, "I love you, my little Latvia."

Latvia hugged him back, her arms encircling his waist. "I love you too, Vanya," she said, happily.

Latvia, her arms wrapped around Russia's waist, reached down and pinched his arse.

"Ah, Latvina and Russia, that's nice!" America said, dreamily.

"It's Latvia, fool." England corrected him.

"Bleurgh..." Denmark made retching noises.

And so... another argument broke out, another fight began, another world meeting. It is to be hoped that destruction did not follow in its wake.

**Author's Notes:**

**A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down – a line from the song 'A spoonful of sugar' from the musical Mary Poppins (sorry, I just had to...)**

**Vous sentez une odeur – 'you smell' in French**

**Petite fille – 'little girl/daughter' in French**

**Petite lapin – 'little rabbit' in French**

**Susan – I thought Canada and Adelaide would name their child, ironically and with sarcasm, after the Invisible Woman.**

**Victoria – I thought England would name his child after one of his queens.**

**Louise – Belgium's human name - in my headcanon - apologies in advance if you disagree**

**Шахта – 'mine' in Belarussian**

**отец волк – Papa wolf in Russian**

**I'm assuming everyone's understood whose is whose child? The story of each of the pregnancies might just appear in a series of sequels...**


End file.
